


How Did You Love

by Jejunus (JejuneSins)



Series: Learnin' the Blues [3]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4, Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Violence, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Drugs, F/M, Gen, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-11 07:11:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 20
Words: 64,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15310149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JejuneSins/pseuds/Jejunus
Summary: A mere handful of years after the successful second battle for Hoover Dam, the Legion has reared its ugly head once more, re-established and helmed by none other than Vulpes Inculta. In a painstaking bid to preserve an independent New Vegas as the seat of power in the Mojave, Courier-turned-Proud Leader Joan sets her sights far to the east, to a distant city in the New England Commonwealth: Boston. Rumors and tales of strange false human beings, Synths, have begun to stretch out west, and in them Joan sees an opportunity to fortify her desert oasis--if she can manage to infiltrate and secure a place inside the secretive and highly advanced organization known as the Institute.A number of compromises leads her further and further down the path ahead of her; a series of small mistakes before a great fall.





	1. Figure it Out

Chapter 1: Figure it Out

_I'll let it go, ‘cause I won't see you later_

January 2287

        “Mmn.”

        The Legionary used a knobby stick that he had crouched and seized from the ground to lift up the tattered blanket that covered the back of the cart that Joan and Cass were perched on. He was inspecting the goods they were transporting; the cart was full to the brim with clothing, canned food, water, and various other day-to-day living supplies. Joan was sitting at the front of the cart, staring straight ahead and trying to control her breathing. Cass was in her natural element; she was leaning around the back, eyeing the Legionary’s muscular legs under his tattered black skirts with an appreciative eye.

        “What’s the goddamn holdup,” she said with a laugh. Joan gripped the rope that Cass had been using to steer the brahmin with enough pressure that she wouldn’t have been surprised if it crushed into a small, perfectly faceted diamond in her fist.

        “Everything seems to be in order,” the Legionary said to his companion, also clad in blood red and football pads. They ignored Cass. The two stepped aside and waved their arms, gesturing that the caravan was clear to pass. Joan finally released her breath.

        “ _Calm the fuck down_ ,” Cass leaned over and whispered harshly in Joan’s ear. Joan swallowed and tried to remain neutral.

        “Wait, hold on,” the other Legionary spoke up, taking a renewed interest in them. Joan felt an icy dagger stab into her stomach—Cass grabbed Joan’s hand, stilling it as it flew instinctively to her hip.

        The Legionary strode to the front of the cart and inspected the two women. Cass was dressed as she usually was, looking cool as a cucumber in her pink gingham shirt and faded leather jacket. Joan was clad in baggy jeans and an oversized black coat. Her desperado hat was perched on her head, her sunglasses still resting neatly on her sharp nose. The Legionary stepped close, staring pointedly at Joan. Cass had wrenched Joan’s hand away from the gun at her hip just as her fingers grazed the snakeskin grip.

        “What? We’re on a schedule, you know,” Cass said. Joan couldn’t believe how boldly calm she was. The Legionary looked at them for a beat longer.

        “Is that your son, woman?” he asked.

        “How goddamn old do you think I am!” Cass shouted at the Legionary; he flinched away from her before abruptly and stiffly composing himself. Joan bit back the irate retort that threatened to claw its way out of her. People wonder why I always wear skirts, she thought indignantly, before catching herself; she couldn’t deny that her natural androgyny was serving her well in this instance.

        “He’s my _assistant_ ,” Cass stated sharply, as if she was reading Joan’s mind. They seized on the opportunity together and Joan shrank sullenly next to Cass, sliding down in her seat and jutting her legs apart, trying to look like she had some sort of masculine pride that would be injured at this statement. The other Legionary rolled his eyes, pulling his companion back as he gestured behind their cart—another wagon had pulled up behind them at the checkpoint.

        “They’re fine, Caius,” he said before waving them along. His companion looked hesitant before giving up and relenting.

        “Vale, true to Caesar,” the Legionaries called after them. Cass didn’t hesitate, cracking a whip at the brahmin that pulled their cart and urging them forward, leaving a billowing trail of dust in their wake.

        Nearly twenty minutes had passed and the Legion Checkpoint was far behind them—they were officially in Arizona.

        “You gotta do something about your goddamn hat and glasses,” Cass said through gritted teeth. She had been composed during the inspection, but she was jittery and on edge now. Joan sighed, pulling her beloved black desperado hat off and tossing it under the blanket that covered their supplies. Cass’s plan had been ingenious really—they were traveling under the guise of Cassidy Caravans, transporting basic essentials that everyone needed, and that the Legion wouldn’t object to. Essentials that the two could use on their journey across Arizona and New Mexico, and that Joan could take as much of as she could carry when the two planned to part ways in Oklahoma. They planned to travel as inconspicuously as they could, shilling their wares in towns and trade posts, trying not to look like they were charging through the territory as quickly as possible.

        “Fine, fine,” Joan said. The sun beat down hot on her black hair and she missed her hat already. “I can’t do anything about the glasses though. Do you know how fucking hard it is to find prescription sunglasses? The Legion can pry them out of my cold dead hands.”

***

One Month later

        “Well shit,” Cass said, her lips downturned. The two had just passed through the last Legion checkpoint—Oklahoma was finally on the horizon.

The month had been the slowest that Joan thought she had ever experienced in her life. Each town inducing a small panic, each checkpoint a heart attack. If this journey didn’t outright kill her, she thought, she was sure that her mere month in the heart of the Legion territory would take at least ten years off her life. She wouldn’t have been surprised if she had silver streaks at her temples. Cass looked weathered too. Weathered and now unhappy as the two were finally ready to part ways.

        “Let me come with you,” Cass pleaded. Joan hopped down out of the cart, slinging a green military surplus bag over her shoulder. It was nearly bursting with caps, water, food and other necessities. Joan had pressed her desperado hat back onto her head and slung her sniper rifle across her back, feeling more like herself than she had since the two had crossed the Colorado River a month ago. She looked up at Cass and smiled hollowly.

        “We talked about this, Cass,” she said. Her stomach felt tight. She wished Cass could come all the way to Boston with her. “Vegas needs you right now. Arcade is busy with the Followers. Boone… well, he’s great and all, but he isn’t fit to lead a caravan, let alone a city. I can’t leave it all to Yes Man.”

        Cass looked down at her, her fine red brows knitted together and the corners of her lips drooping even further into a sad curve.

        “Fuck Vegas, I can’t leave you to die out here in the wilderness,” she said bitterly. Joan twisted away, the tightness in her gut twisting into dread. She couldn’t let Cass see that she was afraid. Instead she focused on feeling indignant, inhaling deeply before turning back to face her.

        “Don’t ever let me hear you say that again,” she said sharply. It hurt. “I’m not a fucking child. I’ve been leading Vegas for more than five years now. And before that I was a courier. This used to be my job. I can do this, even if I have to do it alone.”

        Cass looked down at her, seeing straight through her. Joan looked away, feeling for the first time in years like she might cry before Cass jumped out of the cart after her and gathered her into her arms, hugging her hard. The two embraced for a long while before Cass finally pulled away, letting her go.

        “You better not fucking die out there,” she said, smiling and wiping at her eyes. Joan frantically scraped at her own eyes as well, shoving her glasses out of the way as discreetly as she could manage.

        “Come on now, if I lived through being shot in the head, I can withstand a hike,” she replied, with only a small shudder betraying her. She pushed Cass away, urging her back toward the wagon.

        Cass stepped back into the cart. Joan stood at the side of the road, and they regarded each other for a long moment.

        “I love you, you crazy little bitch,” Cass said. Joan grinned at her.

        “Get outta here, grandma,” Joan replied, turning away before pausing. “I’ll miss you,” she called over her shoulder. Cass waved back at her one last time before her cart took off, looping around and heading back west.

        Joan began her long journey.


	2. Orange Colored Sky

Chapter 2: Orange Colored Sky

_I was hummin' a tune, drinkin' in sunshine; when out of that orange colored view, I got a look at you_

November 2287

        Joan cracked her eyes open and pulled her Pipboy up to her nose. The screen was blurry; she reached to the side, raking her fingers through wet leaves until they finally found her glasses, resting neatly on a small cloth. She shoved them on her face and looked at her Pipboy again. Six in the morning sharp, as usual. She sat up in her small makeshift tent, which was nothing more than a tarp and some stakes hammered into the ground. She set about her morning ritual—drinking deeply from a bottle of water before packing her tent away in the military surplus sack she was still carrying. It was nearly empty now, but she wasn’t concerned; judging from the map on her Pipboy, she should be nearly to the outskirts of Boston.

        After packing her tent and having a bite to eat—a rusted can of Cram this fine morning, if she never ate the overly salty fake meat again it would be too soon—she dressed. She pulled on her white shirt, buttoning it all the way up to her throat before drawing her pencil skirt up over it, tucking her shirt in with precision. Next she looped her tie around her neck, biting her lip as she tied it into a perfect knot beneath her sharp chin. Finally she shrugged into her suit jacket and buttoned it across her belly as she had done every morning since the day she left Cass back in Oklahoma. She had loathed the brief month that she had to dress in jeans and overalls and tattered jackets as they traveled across Arizona; it pained her not to be true to herself. She might be in Boston, but she would always be the leader of New Vegas. Nothing had changed.

        Finally she shoved her desperado hat onto her head and set off. She had bunked up in a dense patch of woods the night before, with nothing but strange two headed deer to interrupt her solitude. She had attributed the morning darkness to the dense canopy of trees around her, but as soon as she stepped out she saw that it was gloomy and rainy. Again. She sagged. Traveling through the Midwest and then the Northeast had instilled in her a brand new appreciation for her beloved Mojave. She hated the fucking cold—nuclear winter my ass, she thought, I’ll take the dry desert heat any day.

        The sky above her rumbled. She walked for a while, increasingly aware of the thick ozone scent enveloping the world around her. She looked at her Pipboy again—it was barely eight in the morning and it looked like it could be midnight. She jumped as a thunderclap punctuated the staticky air; jagged green lightning streaked across the sky and she gasped.

        “ _Fuck_ ,” she said, hastening her pace. This was the other thing she had grown to not only despise, but fear. Radstorms. She had to hand it to Robert House; he had protected Vegas so completely that radiation was barely an issue in the Mojave. Joan had learned that that was very much _not_ the case in the rest of the American territories—her first experience with a radstorm had nearly drained the life out of her. It was only thanks to a traveling doctor that she didn’t succumb to the sickness. She popped a Rad-X in her mouth, swallowing the bitter pill dry. She had to find shelter—and fast.

        The Geiger counter on her Pipboy started waving and clicking and Joan picked her pace up into a run, dashing through the trees around her, trying not to stumble and fall on any roots in the ground. _Fuck fuck fuck_ was the chorus chanting in her mind. She glanced at the map on her Pipboy, desperate for something, anything, and she gasped—a Vault. She ordinarily disliked Vaults, finding them dangerous and annoyingly mazelike, but fuck it, it would have to do. She adjusted her course, sprinting the half mile or so to what she prayed would be safety.

        After a few minutes she arrived in a large clearing and skidded to a stop. She had never seen a Vault like this before, despite having seen more than a few in her day. Set into the ground was an enormous gear shaped platform. 111, it read. She looked around, panicky. She didn’t see the control panel that would allow her to use her Pipboy to access it. She dashed around the clearing, anxiety rising within her as her Geiger counter clicked madly. She was starting to feel woozy and sick to her stomach. Finally she noticed a small building set to the side of the platform and she charged into it.

        “Oh thank God,” she gasped. There was a large red button and she slammed her hand on it. Silence. She felt a scream try to claw itself out of her and she slammed the button a second time, harder than she had the first. Finally the earth below her rumbled to life. She ran out onto the platform and sighed with relief as it descended, staring up at the sickly green sky before the platform slid shut above her.

        Finally silence—her Geiger counter ticked down slowly before stopping. She fell to her knees on the slowly descending platform and rummaged around in her sack, fishing out a limp pack of RadAway. She sighed; she always hated doing this part herself. She wished Arcade was with her.

        She set the RadAway aside and retrieved the other supplies she would need: a long thin plastic tube, some gauze and an IV needle. She pushed up the sleeves on her left arm. At least she was well practiced, given her prodigious use of Med-X. She wiped the skin clean with a dampened piece of gauze before inserting the needle into the inside of her forearm. It protruded from her, looking alien. She tried not to think about it too hard before hooking the plastic tube into it and connecting it to the bag of RadAway, punching the tube into it like a prewar juice box. She held the bag of RadAway up in the air with her free hand and let the medicine drip its way into her veins.

        The platform ground to a stop before large metal doors creaked to life, sliding vertically open in front of her. Before her was the true Vault entrance; it stood imposing and majestic, surprisingly clean. In front of it was the familiar control panel that she could use to enter it.

        Joan sat, still holding the bag up. Now that the immediate threat of radiation poisoning had passed she was wary and apprehensive of what she might find down here. She couldn’t recall setting foot into a single Vault—barring Vault 21 on the Strip—where something inside it hadn’t immediately tried to kill her. Powder Gangers, ghouls, Fiends, those horrible plant monster things. Zion popped into her mind at the thought of the repulsive abominations and she pushed it away. She couldn’t think about him. Not right now. Instead she focused on the enormous steel door in front of her. It looked remarkably well preserved. That either meant that people still lived in it, or that nobody had ever used it. Ideally it would be the latter. She glanced up into the blackness above her—the platform was closed and so far up that she couldn’t discern even a crack of light. She felt suddenly nervous being so far below ground, as though she were trapped.

        The last of the RadAway fed into her system and she disassembled her IV before standing, sliding her sleeves back into place and pulling her pistol from her hip. She held the snakeskin grip firmly. After all these years she still felt more comfortable with her trusty sniper rifle, but she had learned to make good use of the .45 auto pistol Joshua had pressed into her hands years ago.

        “Hello?” she called out. There was no response. The console that allowed access to the Vault remained silent and she prayed that the Vault was empty. She supposed she could ride out the radstorm here at the base of the massive elevator, but now her interest was thoroughly piqued.

        She approached the console. Well, she thought, here goes nothing. She plugged her Pipboy into it and pushed the big red button. She stood back as the hiss and squeal of giant hydraulics filled the cavern, the great gear shaped door creaking to life, pulling backward before rolling away into the gloom. For all her disdain of Vaults, there was always something a little breathtaking about watching those great steel doors slide open. Light from the inside of the Vault flooded over her and she shielded her face with her hand, blinking away spots in her eyes.

        Within the Vault was… nothing. Or so it seemed. Joan kept her gun ready, sweeping the room with it and keeping an eye on the darkened corners of the large space as she proceeded inside. She paused at the end of the platform that led to the rest of the Vault. Skeletons in tattered lab coats littered the floor. One was lying right in front of the control panel that operated the enormous Vault door from the inside; its arm was detached from the rest of its bones, cast aside a few feet away. Joan stepped over it, walking deeper inside. It was deathly quiet—she felt like she had wandered into a mausoleum.

        The first few rooms of the Vault held little interest for her. It appeared that people had indeed lived here once, but judging from the quick scan she had given one of the terminals, they had perished shortly after the Great War. It was a rather small Vault too, she noted—no winding corridors to get lost in. Just some lodgings, a kitchen, and a long hallway. She walked halfway down the passage before stopping.

        Enormous dead radroaches littered the pathway. She knelt to inspect one of them; the shiny carapace had a jagged puncture piercing straight through it. She looked around and now that she paid greater attention she spied several bullet holes denting the walls and floor. She lifted her gun, on guard. This Vault wasn’t as empty as she’d initially thought.

        She proceeded cautiously. She didn’t hear anything from further within the Vault and wondered if perhaps some lone person had wandered down here recently, perhaps to escape a radstorm as she had done. But it was quite unusual for a random wastelander to own a Pipboy—in all her travels she had only ever met a few that did. Her thoughts snapped back to the corridor in front of her as foggy white breath plumed from her nostrils; she shivered and pulled her suit jacket tighter around her. Something about the area unnerved her and she wished she wasn’t alone. She wished Yes Man was with her, with his great booming and cheerful voice and, more importantly, the laser guns at the ends of his arms and his shoulder mounted missiles. She took a deep breath and delved deeper into the Vault.

        The air around her grew steadily colder and she lamented that she hadn’t packed an overcoat in her great green military sack. She would have to pick one up, she thought distractedly before arriving at a sliding door at the end of the hall; it opened into a surprisingly large chamber, narrow but long, and lined with large pod like machines. Still no trace of whoever had shot the radroaches. She stepped into the chamber. This seemed to be the source of the cold—the air inside was frigid. A fine mist rose around her and every surface appeared to be coated in a thin layer of ice.

        She stepped up to one of the pods. Each pod had a small viewing window, each one clouded over with frost. She stood on her toes to try to catch a glimpse inside before finally scrubbing her hand against the glass to clear it.

        “ _Holy shit_!” she shrieked, crashing backward onto the floor. Staring back at her was a dead woman in a Vault suit, her frozen eyes gazing into eternity, glassy and blank. Joan scrambled off of the floor, dusting herself off and trying to regain control of her nerves. She tossed her head, breathing heavily before rushing to another pod and scraping at the ice on its window; it was the same, another corpse, that of an older man this time.

        “They’re all dead,” she whispered to herself. She was reminded of the Sierra Madre. At least these poor bastards weren’t going to jump out and attack her. Hopefully. Still, she thought she ought to make sure none were beyond rescuing. It was the right thing to do.

        She walked back and forth between the pods in a zigzag, clearing each window. Every occupant was frozen, each person staring blankly ahead. Dead dead dead. At the end of the rows of pods she spotted an outlier—one pod door was open, extended nearly to the ceiling. She skipped the rest of the pods, racing to the open one.

        It was empty.

        She looked around. The Vault was as unoccupied as it had been when she first entered it. There was no sign of life in this pod either. Maybe it had never had a resident, she reasoned, since it was at the end of the rows. She looked at the pod standing opposite to the open one before stepping closer to it.

        Inside was a dark skinned man. He looked to be in his mid thirties, fit and athletic under his Vault suit. Dead, like the rest of them. However, this pod was exuding an unpleasant odor, and she noticed that its window was not iced over like the rest. Welling with trepidation, Joan gave the handle of the pod an experimental tug. The door swung up and open and the stench hit Joan in the face with enough intensity to cause her to gag; she swiftly jerked away and covered her mouth and nose with her hands, her eyes watering. She tried to steady herself, fighting the jerking in her abdomen. Her mouth watered with thick saliva, and she teetered on the edge of expelling the Cram she’d had for breakfast before throwing her military bag off her shoulder and rooting around inside it, finally withdrawing one of the respirator masks that she had retrieved from the Divide all those years ago. She thanked her past self for packing it at the last moment as she yanked off her hat and shoved the mask down over her lower face.

        She inhaled deeply, and finally felt the nausea begin to fade. Now that she was protected, she inspected the body closer. His pod was damp on the inside; he must have been unfrozen recently. His hands hung in slack claws at his sides and in the center of his chest was a sizeable bullet hole. Joan’s eyebrows knit together. What on earth had happened here? She turned to look at the empty pod across from his. Had someone escaped? Had the occupant shot this man? Had they also shot the radroaches? How long were these people frozen? She thought back to the terminal she had skimmed. Could these frozen people have lived before the War? She spied another terminal at the end of the corridor and backtracked to it, hastily browsing the entries. Names, pod numbers, and statuses all popped up before her. The occupants seemed to have come from a nearby neighborhood and her suspicion was confirmed—they were in fact all prewar. She pulled up the number of the pod with the freshly dead man in it: Nate Rockwell. She selected the entry for the pod opposite his.

        INFORMATION REDACTED.

        Curiouser and curiouser, she thought before shaking her head violently, sending her short black hair fanning out around her.

        “No,” she said to herself, her voice muffled by the mask. She didn’t have time to be distracted by mysteries. The Mojave was depending on her. Arcade, Cass, Boone, everyone, they mattered more than this strange dead man and the potential unfrozen escapee. If God wanted her to solve this mystery, he’d put her on the path. Until then, she had to get back to business. She removed the respirator and shoved her hat back on her head.

        Joan retraced her steps back to the entrance of the Vault. There was nothing else of note to be found. She glanced at her Pipboy. Time had flown surprisingly fast; it was already early afternoon. Surely the storm would be gone by now. She popped a Rad-X just to be safe before activating the great elevator once again. She looked back at the Vault one last time before stepping onto the platform.

        The elevator hummed to life and ascended slowly. After a couple minutes the platform slid open above her once again and golden rays of sunshine poured over her, warm on her skin after the frigid cemetery of pods. She tilted her face to the sky, inhaling the fresh air, glad to be free of the musty Vault.

        Within moments she was back on the surface and she was stunned—now that the storm had cleared she could see an enormous broken city sprawling far away in the distance. Buildings that stood much taller than most of the ones in Vegas—some of them even rivaling the height of the Lucky 38—spiked the skyline, pale and hazy. Her lips parted with awe. During her ten month journey from the Mojave to the New England Commonwealth she had seen other large cities, even a distant glimpse of the Capital Wasteland, but none seemed to compare to Boston. As she stood devouring the view, a group of crows gathered on a nearby shipping container, their small heads twitching from side to side.


	3. I Hope to Die if I Told a Lie

Chapter 3: I Hope the Die if I Told a Lie

_It breaks my heart now that we're apart, and I think of days gone by_

        “Oh… well I’m afraid Nick isn’t in the office today.”

        Joan looked down her nose at the receptionist sitting at the scuffed metal desk in front of her, standing stiff and resisting the urge to tap her heel impatiently. She had been in Diamond City for a few hours and had so far discovered only one thing: that she really, _really_ disliked Diamond City.

        “He’s out with another client right now,” Ellie said, leaning forward on her elbows and staring up at Joan with concern. “What did you need? I can leave him a message.”

        Joan gnawed at the inside of her lip. In the day and a half it had taken her to travel to Diamond City, she had picked up on the one thing that seemed to unite the Commonwealth—a deeply seated fear and loathing of the manufactured people, the Synths as they were called, and that much more for  their creators, a shadowy organization called The Institute. At least she now had a name to pin to group she was looking for. Now if only she could find someone who didn’t recoil in terror from the mere mention of them. Which she had been hoping would be Detective Valentine, from the group of nervous looking settlers that had referred her to him.

        “Miss?” Ellie prompted her.

        “Sorry. I’m just a little frazzled today,” she said, pulling off her hat and running her fingers through her hair. Ellie gave her an empathetic smile.

        “Don’t sweat it. You remind me of the client Nick’s with right now. She had just about the same look on her face that you do,” she replied. “You’re not looking for a missing person, are you?”

        Joan hesitated, the gears in her head rapidly turning.

        “Would that make a difference?” she asked cautiously. Ellie leapt to her feet, causing Joan to flinch backward.

        “You should have said something sooner!” She looked annoyed, flitting around the office searching for something. Finally she seized a bent pen from one of the drawers of the second desk that sat toward the back of the room, before sitting back at her own table and scribbling on a yellowed pad of paper.

        “I bet you’ve only heard people saying that it’s pointless to find a missing person in Diamond City,” Ellie said, frustration lacing her voice. Joan glanced around the room before nodding quickly.

        “I just knew it. I’m going to ask Nick to talk to Piper. She’s scaring people off from getting help. She means well, but this is going too far, if people are starting to think it’s a lost cause.” She ripped the top page off of her note pad and handed it to Joan. On the paper was a hastily drawn map with a single destination.

        “Here. Nick and his client said they were heading to Goodneighbor a couple days ago. I’m sure you have a local map on the Pipboy you’re wearing, but it’s pretty dangerous around that area. I’ve marked a way that should be a little safer. Hopefully they’re still there, but you can ask around if they’re not,” Ellie continued. Joan stared down at the paper, hoping beyond hope that this was what she was looking for.

        “Do you really think he can help me? My, uh, my missing—friend, they might have been taken by the Institute. Do you know anything about them?”

        The corners of Ellie’s lips drooped in a sad and sympathetic expression and Joan felt a pang of guilt for lying.

        “I’m so sorry. I don’t know anything beyond what you probably already know. Nick and his client have been tracking them for a while though, so maybe the three of you can put your heads together. I wish I had more to offer you,” she said. Joan nodded at her.

        “Thank you for everything, Ellie. I’ll head right over,” she said, spinning around and letting herself out of the small and cluttered office.

        “Good luck!” Ellie called after her as the door swung shut.

        Joan stepped out into the shady alley that the Valentine Detective Agency was nestled into. Her initial hours in Diamond City had made her feel as though she had made this ten month trek for nothing—the city was full of nothing but beggars, barkers shilling their wares, and the low undercurrent of fear. Her immediate impression of these people was that they were sad and pathetic; they lived in squalor and filth and were apparently perfectly fine with that. This was their ‘Great Green Jewel’? She thought of the random woman who had passed her on her way into the city, wildly gesturing and crying out that they were so lucky, the city had electricity! Joan had pitied her, and pity had swiftly morphed into contempt once she entered the city itself. The people here, despite the undercurrent of terror, were brash and proud of their great green heap of trash. Joan wished that she could show them an actual diamond, one that glittered in the middle of a great desert, that blazed brilliantly even in the face of nearly overwhelming adversity.

        Her heart ached at the thought of New Vegas. She missed everything about the Mojave; the people, the heat, the fresh air with its ever present hint of sage and mesquite. She missed Arcade and Boone. She missed Cass and prayed that she had returned to the other side of the Colorado safely. That nothing had happened to her in Legion territory, or—much worse—that the Legion had discovered her absence and decided to launch another attack on the Dam, striking against Vegas when she wasn’t present to defend it. She took in a shaky breath and willed herself to look forward to the task at hand, to focus on the future and not what could potentially be happening on the other side of the continent. The Legion was far, far away from Boston, of that at least she could be sure—there was no need to fear them here. She turned to proceed down the alley before stiffening.

        The main source of her contempt for Diamond City approached her on the narrow walkway.

        “Cheer up sweetheart,” the Diamond City guard said offhandedly to her as he passed by. “Life can’t be all that bad. Lemme see a smile on that pretty face.”

        Joan immediately hated him. Hated him and the cursed sports pads he wore, and all that they represented to her.


	4. Into the Abyss

Chapter 4: Into the Abyss

_I can feel the energy that changes in my chemistry_

Goodneighbor.

        Joan stared up at the glowing neon sign, illuminated in the hazy darkness. She was grateful to Ellie for the map she had drawn—she had been right, the area surrounding Goodneighbor was like a warzone. Even this late at night she could hear the hard rattle of gunfire in the distance, punctuated with screams and shouting. She shivered. The ruins of South Vegas, even at its worst and crawling with Fiends, seemed like a tranquil vacation getaway in comparison. She missed Yes Man again; he always seemed to be able to settle her nerves in the rare moments when they flared up. She slipped her hand inside her suit jacket and touched the holotape she had hidden away inside before pulling open the door that led into Goodneighbor.

        A few people looked up at her as she entered. Most of them were ghouls. They didn’t stare long, slouching away and going back to their business as she stepped inside. A few shop keepers stood at the end of the open square that stretched before her. It was much quieter here than in Diamond City, even with the feral looking children that dashed around the plaza, watched over by ghouls in suits bearing machine guns. A number of benches lined the perimeter of the square and people lounged on them, some reading newspapers, a few dozing, others still with their heads craned back, sucking up Jet. Joan brightened considerably—she was reminded of Freeside. She approached one of the ghouls that stood guard.

        “Have you seen a detective around here? Nick Valentine?” she asked and then immediately felt stupid. This place did remind her of Freeside; which meant that it was highly unlikely that the inhabitants were going to take kindly to some patsy poking her nose in where it didn’t belong. The ghoul surprised her though, tossing his head back and laughing, his voice deep and gravelly.

        “You’re looking for Nicky? He passed outta here a couple days ago, he and that tall broad in the dress,” he said. “I don’t think you’re gonna catch him for a while either. He and that broad, they were talking about goin’ out to the Glowing Sea. Unless you wanna look like I do, I recommend hanging out here. Safer that way.”

        Joan was surprised by how forthcoming he was with that information but decided not to question it.

        “What’s the Glowing Sea?” she asked instead. The ghoul’s expression shifted to suspicious disbelief.

        “You don’t know what the Glowing Sea is? Well like I said, if you wanna look like me, go check it out,” he replied gruffly. Joan could only assume it was some kind of deeply irradiated area. She fiddled with the knot of her tie.

        “Do you know when they’ll be back?” she asked. The ghoul rolled his shoulders, growing visibly annoyed.

        “Christ, what the hell do I look like, the man’s babysitter? I got no idea, lady. Go pester someone else.”

        Joan stepped quickly away from him, not wanting to make enemies on her very first full day in the Commonwealth.

        “Hey, what kinda welcome is that for a newcomer? Second one we’ve had in a week, people are gonna start thinkin’ we’re not _neighborly_ here.”

        Joan looked up, scanning for the source of the voice. The ghoul she’d been speaking to brayed with laughter.

        “Hancock you sucker—you hang out here then. You can handle every Tom, Dick and Harry askin’ their dumbass questions.”

        A man stepped out from a nearby alleyway. He was tall and thin and dressed completely ridiculously: a tricorner hat was perched on top of his gnarled and hairless head, and he wore a long red coat, with an old world flag tied around his waist. Joan immediately thought of Ulysses and thought they might have gotten along, at least based on a mutual tastelessness for fashion. Joan arched her eyebrows at him. He grinned back at her, spreading his hands out.

        “Welcome to Goodneighbor, sister. I’m Hancock, John Hancock. I’m the mayor of this fine burg. You lookin’ for something?” He eyed her up and down and Joan felt a flash of hope. He was the mayor of this place; perhaps they could understand each other, one leader to another. Not that she planned on revealing that she led anything to anyone out here—the less people knew about her, the better, as far as she was concerned.

        “I was,” she said. “But I guess he left. You don’t know Nick Valentine do you?”

        “Nick? He’s my favorite Synth detective! Of course I know him.”

        “Wait, he’s a _Synth_?” Joan asked, her eyebrows shooting up.

        It was Hancocks turn to arch the flesh of his brow at her.

        “Skin’s half ripped off, glowing yellow eyes? He’s a Synth, or he’s _way_ better at pranking people than I ever would have given him credit for,” he replied, staring at Joan as if she were crazy or high. Or both. She looked down and flushed with embarrassment, fidgeting with her tie and feeling as though that was something that Ellie really should have mentioned during their conversation earlier.

        “I see,” she said. Hancock chuckled disarmingly.

        “Sorry sister, you must not have met the tin man yet. Can’t fault ya, he’s never in one place for too long. What do you need him for, you looking for someone?”

        Joan began to wonder how many people must go missing in this place, and a wave of doubt washed over her as she thought about her increasingly frail looking plan for taking over the Institute. She thought back to Arcade’s argument all those months ago about the insanity of her idea; she swore that if— _when_ —she returned to Vegas, that she would never tell him that he might have been right.

        “Sort of,” she finally replied. “I’m looking for the Institute.”

        Hancock’s black eyes flattened and he gave her a grim look of understanding.

        “I hear ya. Everyone’s looking for those sick bastards. Wish I could help you, but I’ve got my own fish to fry here. Good luck trackin’ down Nick though,” he said, turning away from her with a wave. Joan thought quickly—she couldn’t let this lead die, not yet.

        “Wait,” she called out. Hancock looked back at her.

        “Maybe _you_ could help me?” she asked, as prettily and nicely as she could. Hancock laughed at her and she felt a hot red flush rise all the way up to her ears.

        “Unless you’re looking for a very _specific_ kind of help,” Hancock began, jerking his hip out, “I got nothin’ for ya. Like I said, I have some business of my own to take care of.”

        Joan immediately switched tack, turning serious.

        “Then maybe I could help _you_. I know how to take care of business.”

        Hancock turned to fully look her up and down, this time with the careful gaze of an appraiser. His eyes drifted from the sniper rifle strapped to her back to the pistol at her hip. She stood squarely before him as tall as she could manage, trying her best to channel every single quality from within herself that set her apart: Leader of New Vegas, Winner of the Hoover Dam, Conqueror of both the NCR and the Legion. The two stared at each other for a long moment before Hancock threw up his hands in concession.

        “You know what? You’re a weird one, I’ll give you that. How about this, you help me sort out this Pickman Gallery business, and I’ll see what I can do for you. At the very least it’ll give you something to do before ol’ Nicky rolls back into town.”

        Joan could have whooped but settled for her most winning smile.

        “You rub my back and I’ll rub yours,” she said. Hancock arched his brow at her again with a grin.

        “That a promise?”

***

        “So where are ya from?” The two were winding their way through the littered and garbage strewn alleys and side streets of North Boston, the light from Joan’s Pipboy illuminating the way ahead. Joan thought for a moment before answering him.

        “Out west a ways.”

        During the course of her ten month long journey from Nevada to the New England Commonwealth she had long contemplated how she was going to handle the people she would eventually meet there. All she knew was that she didn’t want to disclose too much of herself and certainly not her plan for whatever organization that was creating the synthetic people. She patted the inside of her suit jacket again.

        “You don’t say. That cowboy hat might have given you away,” Hancock retorted. Joan smirked at him.

        “You’re one to talk. Where’d you get _your_ hat, a museum?”

        Hancock tipped his tricorner to her and winked.

        “As a matter of fact, I did, sister. Grabbed it right out of John Hancock’s display case. Of the people, for the people,” he said. Joan looked up at him. Ulysses had sparked a curiosity in her about the prewar world, so much so that she had learned enough to recognize the name and the phrase attached to it.

        “Wait, are those the _real_ John Hancock’s clothes?” she asked.

        Hancock shrugged at her as they continued their moonlit walk.

        “Maybe, maybe not. All that matters is what they represent, you feel me?”

        Joan paused, staring at him. She drew her hand to her tie before sweeping it down the front of her suit.

        “Yeah. I feel you.”

***

 

        “So what’s the deal with this place?” Joan asked Hancock as they stood hunched in the shadows of an alley, just outside the cone of firelight from a burning trashcan. Joan’s eyes had been slow to adjust to the pitch blackness of the alley after he had asked her to turn her Pipboy light off and now the firelight felt like it was searing into her eyelids. It occurred to her that she had embarked on this journey with what was essentially a total stranger and she felt a prick of nervousness. She kept her hand close to her .45.

        “Been hearing some shit, some real fucked up shit. It all seems to lead back to this place. Pickman Gallery. I don’t know anything beyond that,” he said. He had withdrawn a sawn-off shotgun from within his coat and was holding it with a practiced hand. “I was gonna check it out—then you showed up. So now we’re gonna check it out together,” he continued, abruptly business-like. Joan felt oddly reassured by this and slid her hand away from her hip.

        “Let me have a look first. Just to make sure we’re not gonna walk into anything dangerous,” she said, falling into a crouch and stalking forward, staying just outside of the radius of firelight before pulling off her hat and peeking around the corner. Before her was a sort of entrance way leading to a bright red door with a lone man holding a rifle, apparently standing guard. She wrinkled her nose; she could smell him all the way from the corner, radiating stale sweat and the chemical stench of chems that were harder than the ones she had a taste for. He looked bored and wiry. Joan retreated back to Hancock, shoving her hat back on, and told him what she had seen.

        “Anyone you know?” she asked him. Hancock shrugged.

        “Couldn’t tell ya. Just gonna have to get up close and personal and find out.”

        Without warning he straightened and strode out to the entrance way. Joan sped up to catch him and the two rounded the corner at the same time, Hancock with his shotgun pointed straight forward and Joan with her .45 aimed carefully at the ground as she had been taught. The junkie that was guarding the door snapped out of his bored reverie and shouted at them.

        “Shit—SHIT—” was all that he managed to call out as he drew his gun up, aiming straight at Hancock. A single shot rang out and he thudded against the wall he’d been leaning against before slowly sagging, groaning with pain. His rifle dropped out of his hands as he pressed his palms against the fresh bullet wound in his thigh, trying to staunch the flow of blood that was steadily spreading outward. Joan lowered her pistol and quickly approached him, kicking his gun out of the way and sending it spinning across the broken stone tiles on the ground. She stared down at him.

        “What’s the deal with Pickman Gallery?” she asked him authoritatively. He gaped up at her, sputtering as he tried to prop himself up and restrain the bleeding at the same time. His eyes were wild with whatever chems he was on. Joan raised her gun again, pointing it directly at his face this time.

        “I’m not going to ask again. What’s inside?” she demanded.

        “Jesus fuck, you bitch…” he croaked at her. “It’s that monster, that fuckin’ psycho, Pickman. He’s… he’s in there, we’re lookin’ for him.”

        “ _Who_ is looking for him?” she prompted. Hancock stepped up beside her.

        “My gang is, Christ what the fuck do you want? We’ve already gotta deal with that fucking monster, goddamn what the fuck did we do to deserve all this?” he moaned.

        Joan stared down at him impatiently at he rambled, barely coherent.

        “Who is Pickman?” she asked.

        The junkie grunted with pain and folded in half, blood gushing out from around his hands as they tried to compress his thigh. His grip was weakening.

        “Fuck,” he murmured, crumpling further down the wall. The corners of Joan’s lips turned down.

        “Damn sister, you weren’t kidding about taking care of the business,” Hancock remarked as they watched the junkie’s eyes grow dim. Blood was flowing freely down his leg and slicking the ground beneath him. Joan sighed, frowning.

        “I didn’t mean to hit his fucking artery. Shit,” she said, staring at the lifeless heap and holstering her .45. She didn’t have any particular qualms about killing the man, but she would have preferred to do it as quickly as possible. She had no taste for torture and slow deaths. “I wanted to ask him some more questions.”

        “Well, it got us some answers. There’s definitely _something_ going on inside, we know that now,” Hancock replied, nudging the junkie out of the way with his boot as he cracked the red door open. He turned around to Joan and flashed a grin at her.

        “Thanks for saving me. Intentional or not that was a damn good shot.”

        Joan managed to smile back and followed him inside.

        Hancock shut the door behind them and Joan immediately covered her lower face with her hand, pulling her gun back out. The smell inside the place was staggering—the metallic stench of blood seemed to coat the walls, the ceiling, the floor. Decay and rot provided a disgusting base note and Joan wished she hadn’t stashed her pack back at Goodneighbor; she would have made good use of that respirator mask again.

        “Jesus,” Hancock commented. “This is pretty intense and I’m not even as put off by this as I used to be. Damn.”

        The house seemed to be eerily quiet. Joan trained her gun on the large staircase that took up most of the foyer and strained her ears. There didn’t seem to be any noise from the floor above that she could tell. Hancock wandered away from her to the doorway on their left.

        “Ho-ly shit,” he whistled quietly. Joan followed him, peeking around his arm. She suppressed a gasp. The room was absolutely filthy and coated with gore and viscera. Large pine boxes overflowed with severed body parts, most of which were unrecognizable with rot and roving swarms of insects. Tall porcelain vases stuffed with bright flowers dotted the room, bizarrely and grotesquely juxtaposed against the rest of the space. The walls were lined with strange and disturbing paintings that seemed to gaze down at them—figuratively and literally, as she noticed that many of them were covered in unusual and wickedly cartoonish depictions of eyes. Joan pressed her hand to her mouth.

        “Is this… _normal_? For Boston?” she asked through her fingers, wondering for a moment if perhaps the Legion wasn't as bad as she thought if this was what she had to compare them to. Even Nipton hadn’t been this depraved.

        “ _Fuck no_ ,” Hancock said, looking around warily, his shotgun primed and ready. “This is why I decided to personally check this out. I’ve never seen anything like this and I’ve been here my entire fuckin’ life.” Joan didn’t know whether to be relieved by that or not. She decided it was best not to think too hard about it and pressed on, moving to the next room. Hancock followed her.

        “ _Please_ keep an eye out,” she said, wishing with all her might that Boone would magically teleport from Vegas to her side. If anyone she knew would remain alert and vigilant in this sort of situation, it would be him. Hancock snorted at her.

        “You think I wanna wind up like one of these poor bastards? Don’t worry, I got your back,” he replied. As if to display his sincerity, he reached out to her, squeezing her shoulder reassuringly. Joan was surprised at the touch of warmth that seemed to radiate out from the gesture; her nerves settled, even if just a minute amount.

        The chamber that followed was a kitchen and it made the room before it look warm and inviting—the stove was rattling with pots bubbling over with various substances, shiny white bones protruding from beneath their lids, and yet more boxes were perched on the table, the counters, the floor, each overflowing with more body parts. The display was so garishly ghoulish that Joan almost had to stifle a laugh at the horrifying level of absurdity. Lying on the table was a note with a large bloody heart scrawled onto it, signed ‘ _Love, Pickman_ ’. That solved the mystery of who Pickman was, at least.

        “What in the _goddamn_ ,” she said, looking around. Hancock seemed to mirror her grim mirth.

        “You think this fucko had a certain design motif in mind when he worked on this place? Hey speaking of, I heard this great joke: a ghoul walks into a bar—” Hancock was cut off by a loud bang from somewhere well beneath the two of them; they stood still and silent, each straining to hear. From the bowels of the house the two could faintly detect the sounds of shouting, followed by another gunshot.

        “I think that might be what we’re looking for,” Joan observed. The two began to search the room, looking for a door, or hole in the wall, some way to access the basement of the dwelling. After a moment Hancock flagged her over; he was standing in front of a closed door. Joan stepped up and jiggled the handle.

        “It’s locked,” she said.

        “You any good with lock picking?” he asked her. She shook her head.

        “Yeah me either.” He pressed the tip of his shotgun to the key plate and depressed the trigger. Joan flinched at the bang, pressing her palms to her ears. The door swung slowly open, a gaping chunk missing from the center edge. The smoke cleared and she lowered her hands, impressed with him.

        “I like the way you think.” She grinned, passing by him into the corridor the door led to. Despite the nightmarish surroundings she was starting to feel a bit more at ease. It felt invigorating to engage in something, anything, that didn’t revolve around the Legion; defending against them, planning an attack on them, spending every waking moment dreading and fearing them. It was even a welcome reprieve from her other constant thought—the Synths, and how she was going to conquer them. She was pleasantly, perhaps bizarrely, reminded of the comparatively mundane parts of her life, like taking bounties for the NCR or helping Jason Bright and the ghouls at Repconn.

        “You’re not so bad yourself,” Hancock complimented her in return. “Not too many people would have stuck with me after seeing this horrorshow. I don’t even think I’d blame ‘em. Like I said, you’re a weird one.” He paused, and she could hear the grin in his voice as he continued. “Just might be the _right_ kind of weird though.”

        She fiddled with her tie, feeling her ears grow warm.

        The two proceeded deeper into the gruesome building. The corridor led to stairs, which led to a basement. The basement looked much like the rest of the house that they had seen, although the bodies seemed to be whole, or at least chopped into bigger pieces.

        “Do you know any of these people?” Joan asked, eyeing the small mountain corpses that dominated the center of the room. Hancock took a closer look, flipping a couple of the facedown people onto their backs.

        “No, not so far, luckily. Christ though, how long has this guy been at this? He must have wiped out half the fuckin’ North End with all this,” he said, wrinkling his brow. Joan made a strained noise of agreement. Many of the corpses were heavily wounded—she could spy red welts around their wrists and ankles, the bodies zigzagged with cuts and gouges. It was clear that they had suffered.

        Her stomach turned again. Of the many, many things wrong with the Legion, far and away what she considered to be the worst of their sins was their penchant for torture and terror. War was cruel and unforgiving, but she could at least wrap her mind around the grim necessity of killing people for a cause, even if it was one that she disagreed with. But she couldn’t abide the fact that they liked to play with their food. Crucifixion, rape, slavery. It was sickeningly clear that they thrilled and delighted in terrorizing, and it had only escalated after Vulpes Inculta had taken the mantle of Caesar. Unsurprising, given their introduction in Nipton.

        She thought back to that night all those years ago; if she ever could have guessed what would come to pass she might have tried to attack them then, even though they had outnumbered her. She had ED-E with her, but was otherwise unaccompanied, and had been nearly frozen with terror at the nightmarish scene in front of her: Powder Gangers, lashed to poles and battered street lights, amidst pikes with rotting and severed heads impaled on them, permanent screams carved onto their faces. A group of men clad in crimson sporting equipment leered at her, staring at her wolfishly, the anguished moans of the crucified Powder Gangers blending with the crackling of fire around them. Vulpes Inculta stepping down the stairs of the town hall, serene in the chaos. He had challenged her then, telling her that if she disapproved of what they were doing, that she was perfectly free to try to take her chances against them. She stood, stunned, fingering the lead pipe strapped to her hip. In the end her sense of self preservation had outweighed her sense of justice, and he had laughed at her as they walked away. _Vale,_ he had said, his monotone voice nearly cheerful.

        “Hey—it’s gonna be okay. The sick fuck’s gonna pay for this,” Hancock said, grasping her shoulder and giving her another squeeze. Joan jolted under his grip and jerked her head up at him, temporarily confused by what he meant.

        Pickman. Right. She glanced at his large hand, still on her shoulder; his fingers were rough and scarred. She ran her thumb across her forefinger and looked away.

        “Thank you. Let’s move on,” she said, and he released her. Across the room from them was a large carved out hole in the wall.

        “How big is this damn place,” she said, craning her head inside the opening. A small tunnel stretched before her; it looked to have been carved out by hand with shovels. She stepped inside, leading the way. It went further and further down and Joan felt like they were descending into Hell.

        They had been combing their way through the winding maze of tunnels for a while when Hancock paused, shushing her. He pulled his shotgun out again and Joan readied her pistol. Ahead of them were voices, finally clear and distinct.

        “Give it up, Pickman, you sick fucking prick,” a voice said, low and menacing. Joan and Hancock advanced closer as quietly as they could. Joan peered around a corner that led to an open cavern: within it were several men, dressed in leathers and crude armor, all aiming their weapons at a single man in the center of the room. The man was standing placidly, dressed in a suit and tie, his hands relaxed at his sides. Joan felt a flare of hope—it seemed the men in the room had the same goal that she and Hancock did. She tentatively stepped out of the winding tunnel. The man in the center of the group was unusually perceptive—he locked eyes with her as soon as she had fully stepped into the room and grinned, waving his hand at her enthusiastically.

        “You’re finally here!” he called merrily. Joan and Hancock had only a moment to stare at him in confusion before the other men spun around, aiming their weapons at the two of them.

        “What the fuck—” they shouted before opening fire. Joan shrieked and dove away, firing blindly into the group. She was lucky; one of them immediately fell, struck cleanly in the head. Another collapsed to his knees, though she couldn’t see where he had been hit. Hancock roared with fury and Joan thought she would go deaf with the thunder of his shotgun fire. Within moments, he had dispatched the remaining three, without even taking a hit. Pickman had stepped back, somehow unscathed and looking completely unruffled. Joan and Hancock approached him, panting with aggravation.

        “Sorry for doing that. But thank you for taking care of those unpleasant men for me,” Pickman said, his voice quiet and refined. He rolled his shoulders and straightened his tie. Joan’s hand flew to her own tie and yanked at it as she seethed at him.

        “What the fuck was that?” she demanded.

        “A distraction. Not a bad one, if I say so myself. You two did a good job on those brutes. I wouldn’t feel too bad if I were you; they weren’t very nice people,” he said. He began cleaning under his nails.

        “And _you’re_ a very nice person?” Joan asked him pointedly.

        “Nicer than they were. They were in a gang. They’ve hurt people, raped women and children; they steal and kill without a care. I believe I’m doing the world a favor—eradicating a pest and bringing culture to the Commonwealth with my art. This is a net benefit for humanity,” Pickman replied evenly. Joan paused. She couldn’t say she hadn’t killed other men for less. Her principles remained however.

        “Torturing them is over the line,” she said heatedly. Pickman stopped cleaning his nails and looked up at her with a slick smile.

        “I’d say they deserve what they got. They were degenerates.”

        The air shattered around them and Pickman thudded to the floor.

         Joan stood over him, glaring hard down at his lifeless heap and breathing heavily. Hancock stepped away from her, stowing his shotgun back inside his coat. She stood as stiff as a statue as blood pooled from around the exit wound in the back of Pickman’s head; her .45 trembled in her hand. Hancock watched her with his keen black eyes.

        “You alright?” he asked her. She swallowed, still staring down at Pickman’s body, the red finally fading from her vision. She tucked her pistol back into its holster.

        “Yeah. You don’t mind that I did that, do you?” she asked, turning to face him. Hancock splayed his hands.

        “When someone needs hurting, we hurt ‘em. Simple as that,” he said. Some of the tension melted out of Joan’s shoulders and she grinned at him.

        “That’s exactly how I see it,” she said. The two began to retrace their steps through the building, making their way through the winding tunnels, back to the first floor and finally exiting the house. The sun was just cresting over the river, casting an electric pink hue across the deep navy of the sky above. Joan felt ragged after being up all night and dealing with the nightmarish house; consumed by habit, she slid the sleeves of her left arm up, already plunging her hand into her suit for the slim metal case that lived inside and retrieving a needle. Hancock shot her a look and she faltered.

        “Do you mind?” she asked, feeling suddenly awkward and not wanting to be impolite. Hancock bent and slapped his knee with mirth.

        “Only if you don’t plan to share,” he said. Joan exhaled and grinned, passing one of her needles to him. The two retreated to the wall of the alley and slid down, taking a seat on the cool ground.

        “I’m normally more of a Mentats ghoul myself,” Hancock began, shoving his own sleeve up. “But after that shitshow? I could stand to take the edge off.”

        “Amen,” Joan replied. She gave her inner arm a few sharp thumps and within a moment was plunging the contents of the needle into the hungry vein. Nearly instant relief washed over her and she tilted her head back against the wall, grinning hazily.

        “Damn, sister—you’re a pro,” Hancock commented before taking his own dose of Med-X. “I could get used to this kind of company,” he sighed.

        The two sat side by side and watched the sun rise up over the Charles River. They shared an easy silence, letting the darkness of the house wash away from them in the dewy first light of the morning.


	5. Love the One You're With

Chapter 5: Love the One You’re With

_Don't be angry, don't be sad, and don't sit crying over good times you had; there's someone right next to you and they're just waiting for something to do_

        “Ugh, fuck.” Joan shielded her eyes against the brightness of the late afternoon sky with her hand. She and Hancock were still slumped against the wall of the alley. A bolt of pain shot up her neck as she turned her head to look at him; he was splayed out with his chin pressed into his chest, breathing steadily and quietly, fast asleep. Or passed out, she couldn’t be sure. She pulled her Pipboy up to her face, squinting at the dull screen—they had slept for nearly twelve hours. This struck her as deeply amusing and she hunched over laughing, ignoring the pain in her back and hips from sitting on the ground for so long. Hancock stirred beside her, cracking one bleary black eye open.

        “Fuck’r you laughin’ at,” he groaned, pulling away from the wall and rolling his neck, giving it several good resounding cracks. Joan swiped at her eyes, still cackling.

        “We look like a couple of fucking junkies,” she brayed, her shoulders bouncing up and down. Hancock looked at her before looking down at himself and joined her, snickering with his deep graveled laugh. The two laughed for a solid minute at themselves before winding down, Joan blotting her eyes with the sleeve of her suit as a few stray giggles escaped her.

        “So,” she began. “I rubbed your back. Wanna help me find what I’m looking for?”

        Hancock had braced himself against the wall, hauling himself to his feet before extending his hand to her. Joan looked at it, the mirth of the situation suddenly slipping away from her. She placed her hand in his and he pulled her to her feet, warm and gentlemanly. She tilted her head down, hoping her hat obscured her face.

        “You’re looking for the Institute, right?” Hancock asked.

        She nodded at him and he regarded her contemplatively.

        “What do you want them for?” he asked. Joan tilted her head up, meeting his eyes again.

        “They have something that belongs to me,” she said. It was a sort of truth—they just weren’t aware that what they possessed belonged to her yet. Hancock watched her and she felt uncomfortable for a moment, as though he could see through her with his mirror-like black eyes. She steadied her breathing, trying to latch on to the fact that the Institute appeared to be universally reviled and feared in Boston; he would have no reason to look out for them. He drew his scarred lips into a grim smirk.

        “Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, sister. What is it you’re really after?”

        Joan swallowed, trying to maintain eye contact with him. Cass was so much better at this kind of thing than she was. Hell, she almost assuredly would have fucked the compliance out of Hancock by now, Joan thought; a notion that caused a deep part of her stomach to twinge uncomfortably. She pulled off her hat and ran her fingers through her hair, her mind scrambling to come up with a reason for her to find the Institute. In a stroke of inspiration she thought back to Ellie in Diamond City, and how she had all but handed her an excuse on a silver platter—it was a long shot, but maybe it would be worth it to try again. At the very least she would have a cohesive story if it came up more than once.

        “They kidnapped someone close to me,” she began, rifling through the file cabinet of her brain for who that person could be. She knew she wasn’t an amazing liar—on impulse she selected Arcade. “He’s tall, has short blond hair and glasses,” she continued, pushing ahead, the idea solidifying in her mind as it came together. “He’s very, _very_ smart. I think they kidnapped him to work as a doctor for them. He’s practically a genius. And he knows a lot about the prewar world.” She tried to channel the shock and sadness she’d felt when Arcade had parted ways with her before the second battle for Hoover Dam, when he had left her to train and prepare with the Enclave Remnants. She had—bitterly—understood that he needed to leave her for a while, but she had missed him desperately. The corners of her lips curved downward as she recalled with clarity how she had felt; the loneliness, frustration, worry. She liked Cass and Boone but they weren’t the same, they lacked Arcade’s sharp wit and gallows humor. Hancock patted her shoulder again.

        “Thought so. Those Institute assholes can’t keep their mitts off anyone that they think could be useful to them. Were you uh… _close_ to him?” he asked with naked curiosity.

        “Ha, no, it’s nothing like that,” she said with a chuckle. “He’s about as gay as they come.”

        Hancock visibly relaxed and gave her a winning smile.

        “Well, I’m not one to let down my end of a bargain. I don’t know how the hell we’ll find them, but we can try. We gotta stop back in Goodneighbor first though, I have to let my people know that I’m taking off for a while,” he said.

        Joan nodded and they set off, winding their way through the mazelike streets and alleys of the North End.

        A few hours later they were standing in Hancock’s ‘office’, as he called it. The room consisted of some beat up couches, a ratty bed, and a squat table that was cluttered in chem paraphernalia. Joan immediately liked it.

        “Wanna come out with me? I’m gonna let everyone in town know that their handsome leader is about to take a hike for a while,” Hancock said, his hand on the handle of the door that led out to his balcony. Joan smiled ruefully. She wished she could have done the same thing in Vegas; it had hurt her to leave at the crack of dawn without speaking a word to anyone. Only Arcade, Cass and Boone—and Yes Man, of course—knew of her plans. New Vegas had already lived with one reclusive leader tucked away inside the Lucky 38 and probably wouldn’t bat an eye if she took a page out of House’s book; hopefully the Legion would interpret her absence similarly.

        She followed Hancock out onto a balcony draped in the colors of the old world and he barked at the square beneath him, summoning the residents of Goodneighbor into a small swarm. He braced his arms on the railing of the balcony and she stood back, her arms laced neatly across her chest as she watched him.

        “Hey! Everybody, gather up! I got something you all need to hear!” Hancock yelled. The crowd looked up at him and she could see admiration in their eyes. She felt a small fluttering feeling sprout in her stomach, like butterflies.

        “Look everyone. I'm taking a walk. It's time for your fearless leader to get back out there. Mix it up in the dirt before I forget what that feels like, ya know?”

        Shouts of dissent rose up beneath them, a few of the voices sounding genuinely distressed and sad. Hancock grinned down at them and spread his arms open wide.

        Hey, I'm always gonna be here in spirit! Look, Goodneighbor and I, we got a connection. But like any hot-and-heavy relationship, sometimes you gotta spend time apart. Let things cool off. Remind yourself of who you are, ya feel me?” he continued.

        Joan’s arms relaxed and her hands fell to her side, her fingers tingly and warm as she watched Hancock speak to his people. He was a very good public speaker; she felt slightly guilty for pulling him away from the people who so clearly depended on him.

        “So that's why I'm leaving. I'm still your mayor, I'm still gonna be here when you need me, but it's time for me to stop living so damn comfortable—because we all know, no one in power deserves to be comfortable for long!”

        She perked up. Hancock was animated now, sweeping his arms as he spoke and she felt a small glow welling inside her. He had described nearly exactly how she had felt the night she decided to kill Robert House and take his place; House had indeed lived too comfortably, too out of touch with the world around him as it had grown and shifted into something he only thought he could control. It was a convention that she had done her best to live by, and why she had always thrust herself out into the masses and public. She never wanted to be like House. She wanted Vegas to look at her with admiration and love, and she wanted to earn it and be deserving of it. She wanted the citizens of Vegas to look at her the way the people of Goodneighbor were now looking at Hancock. The way the Sorrows had looked to Randall Clark.

        “Now what's the best town in the Commonwealth? Where can someone live free? With no judgment?” Hancock shouted down at the crowd and they frenzied with fervent enthusiasm. Joan licked her lips, unable to resist feeling the crowd’s excitement surge through her as well.

        “GOODNEIGHBOR!” they roared at him. He threw his arms out as wide as he could and Joan noticed for the first time how broad his shoulders were under his sweeping red coat.

        “Of the people! For the people! And don’t let no one forget it!” Hancock bellowed with a flourish. The crowd howled beneath him and Joan tugged at her tie, feeling flushed. Hancock turned away from the crowd and opened the door again and Joan followed him inside. Even with the door shut behind them they could still hear the crowd outside, stirring and buzzing with frenetic energy.

        “That was a prett—”

        Hancock whipped around as soon as the door was closed, pressing his palms against the worn wall of his office, trapping Joan between them. Her heart started beating faster and she looked up at him, her lips slightly parted. Hancock looked back down at her, grinning.

        “I think I made a good impression,” he said softly, pressing closer to her. Warmth surged between her thighs and she bit her lip. That was all the confirmation Hancock seemed to need and he pressed his lips against hers, rough and warm. Ordinarily she didn’t enjoy kissing, but she returned his efforts enthusiastically, throwing her arms around him and caressing the scarred skin on the back of his head and neck, slipping her hand into the collar of his coat, hungry to touch more of him. The warmth in her belly roared into a full fire as he lowered, sliding his hands up the back of her thighs and hoisting her up so that they were face to face, pressing against the wall as their mouths worked hot against each other. Joan explored Hancock feverishly, pulling her fingers from his back to run up his chest and neck, devouring his gnarled skin under her fingertips. After several minutes that passed in the blink of an eye they pulled apart, breathing heavily. Joan felt lightheaded and high.

        “Do you wanna—” It was Hancock’s turn to be cut off as Joan stared into his dark eyes with intensity, wrapping her legs around him and squeezing his narrow hips tightly against hers as her skirt rode up around her waist. His erection pressed against her through his tattered trousers and she ground into it; Hancock chuckled, pulling her away from the wall, hefting her weight easily in his hands.

        “You ain’t gotta tell me twice,” he said, backing across the room to the bed where they both fell.

        Less than an hour later they were stretched out on Hancock’s tattered mattress. Hancock was laying flat on his stomach, his bare arm draped over the edge of the bed. His clothes were scattered about the room, his tricorner hat dangling lopsided from one of the bedposts. He snored quietly. Joan was sprawled on her back, her suit jacket splayed open, shirt unbuttoned and untucked beneath it, her tie yanked carelessly down between her small breasts. She was smiling and staring at the ceiling in a hazy bliss, her glasses sitting askew on her face, feeling warm and content, the fire inside her temporarily satiated.

***

_"—this bit of news that, uhh, might... It might interest you. If not, just hang on a minute, and I'll go back to the music._ _If you hadn't, uhh, heard... I mean, I guess most people know this but maybe someone didn't... That, uhh, the Greenetech building was where those mercenaries lived..._ _Uhh... the... Gunners! Gunners, that's it. That was like their base, sort of... only now they're pretty much all dead. S-Someone pretty tough had to have killed them right? Maybe it wa—”_

        Joan rolled over, turning her Pipboy radio off. She thought she might have hurled it across the room if she had to listen to that infuriatingly inept radio announcer babble on any longer. She thought of Mr. New Vegas—she wasn’t much of a fan of the program, but at least House had created him to be concise and get the hell on with things. The thought of Vegas tugged at her heart.

        “Mmn, good morning, beautiful,” Hancock murmured. He had also rolled over before gently seizing her hand. He flipped it over and kissed her fingertips before pausing, rubbing his eyes and then looking back down at them with concentration. Joan tugged her hand away, but he held it for a moment longer.

        “Looks like a piece of me rubbed off on ya,” he said, looking down at the thick scarring that lined the inside of her forefinger, still mottled red and black. Joan snatched her hand away from him, drawing it sharply to her chest. Hancock arched his brow at her.

        “Looks like there’s a story behind that. What happened?” he asked curiously. Joan glanced at him before looking down at her finger. Her eyes were itchy and dry with sleep, but she was afraid to blink, afraid that the moment she closed her eyes she would be in the Angel Cave, the oil lamp sitting on the table with its chimney standing neatly beside it, the air sickly sweet with the stench of burning flesh.

        “It... was a mistake,” she said stiffly.

        Hancock watched her. She ripped her eyes from her burned finger and looked back at him, her expression carefully shuttered.

        “I’m not gonna drag it out of ya if you don’t want to talk about it,” he said, pulling away from her. He hauled himself up to sit on the edge of the bed and Joan watched him, taking in the rough surface of his skin as it stretched across his shoulder blades. She tucked her hand beside her into the tattered blankets.

        “I’m sorry,” she said. Hancock turned back to her again, surprise and then a knowing grin crossing his face.

        “Hey we all got our skeletons in the closet. Some of us a little more literally than others. Ya don’t gotta be sorry for anything,” he said. He stood and Joan cast her eyes away politely despite the activities of the previous evening. She heard a faint rustling and he chuckled.

        “You _are_ a strange one,” he said again. He crossed to her side of the bed, clad in half buttoned trousers and nothing else. She looked up at him and gave him a small chaste smile before pulling herself out of the warmth of the bed to begin straightening her own clothes—he looked temporarily disappointed before gathering the rest of his scattered clothing. By the time he was dressed Joan was sitting primly on the edge of the bed, hat and glasses back where they belonged, dress shirt buttoned severely to her throat.

        “So what’s with the suit? You can at least tell me that, right?” he commented, tightening the old world flag around his waist. “You don’t see a lot of wastelanders who dress like they’re running a high class business, let alone ones who can handle a pistol the way you do.”

        Joan crossed her legs, feeling a touch of pride at the mention of her skills and careful choice of dress.

        “You could say that I run a business. I used to be a courier though,” she said, figuring that he deserved at least a sliver of truth about her, given the night they had spent together.

        “Pretty dangerous line of work,” he said, impressed. “How did being a courier turn into running a business, you open your own outpost?”

        “I got jumped by a group of assholes. One of them shot me in the head. Didn’t have too much interest in delivering packages after that,” she said. Hancock stilled, looking at her with his black eyes open wide. Joan swept her hat back off and pulled back the curtain of hair at her temple—a jagged scar was carved across the side of her head. She let her hair fall back into place, obscuring it again.

        “Damn, sister. How the hell did you survive that? What happened to the asshole that shot you?”

        “God had better plans for me that day,” she reminisced. “As for the asshole, he got his own when I tracked him down.”

        “Remind me not to make enemies with you,” Hancock said, chuckling. “I woulda done the same thing though. Good on ya.”

        Joan grinned up at him, pushing her hat firmly back onto her head once more. Most people had said the same thing upon learning that she had tracked down her would-be killer, but she suspected Hancock actually would have had the stones to do it.


	6. Footsteps

Chapter 6: Footsteps

_My troubled history that's washed away all my sins; starting over once again, this is where it all begins_

        For the next couple of weeks Joan and Hancock wandered the Commonwealth fruitlessly. She had been disappointed to learn that Hancock truly didn’t have any better leads on the Institute, and the two hadn’t been able to track down Nick Valentine to see if he knew anything more than they did. Hancock suggested trying Piper Wright, in Diamond City, but Joan declined.

        “I hate that place,” she said bluntly. Hancock tossed his head back and laughed, scaring off a nearby scattering of crows.

        “Yeah I feel you. Folks in Diamond City wouldn’t give a ghoul the time of day, the pompous assholes,” he said. Joan thought back to the morning she had spent there and it occurred to her that she had not seen a single ghoul there at all, not even in the shady back streets or outskirts.

        “Are they not allowed inside?” she asked, her brow wrinkling. House had instituted a similar rule on the Strip—one that she had immediately abolished. Beyond being discriminatory, she thought it was terribly shortsighted and impractical for House to have had such a rule; a ghoul’s caps were just as easily and well spent as any other persons. She’d let a sentient Deathclaw on the Strip if it could behave itself and could afford the credit check.

        “Nope. Mayor _Fat-Ass_ kicked ‘em out,” Hancock replied bitterly. Joan eyed him; he sounded more personally offended than she would have anticipated, at least in the short amount of time they had spent together. She considered questioning it, but thought back to the morning he saw her burned finger. She buried her hand inside her suit jacket instead and produced a tin of Mentats.

        “Wanna take a break?” she asked. Hancock lit up and they retreated to the husked remains of an abandoned house that sagged on the side of the street. Joan flashed the light of her Pipboy around inside as they entered; large portions of the roof had caved in and shafts of light pierced the darkness inside. It almost looked intentionally done, as though its original owners had desired a kind of really rustic sky lighting.

        “Why hasn’t anyone ever fixed up these houses?” she asked. “Or torn them down for scrap, built some new ones. It seems like such a waste.”

        Hancock regarded her for a moment before plopping down into a mostly-intact armchair. He brushed a spider off the armrest before popping open the tin of Mentats and tossing one into his mouth, chewing it thoughtfully.

        “Never thought about it too much. Everyone lives in either Diamond City or Goodneighbor. Too fuckin’ dangerous to live out here in the sticks,” he said, swallowing the pill. Joan pursed her lips before taking her own seat opposite him on a worn sofa. He tossed the Mentats at her and she caught it easily, popping one of her own and swallowing the chalky tablet dry. She immediately regretted it and wished she had taken her Med-X instead; Mentats always put her already tightly wound brain on edge, making her feel jittery and tense. She huffed, growing irritated.

        “Well why don’t you work together to _do_ something about it?”

        “Did you miss the part about the assholes in Diamond City tossing the ghouls out?” Hancock shot back at her. “They’re not exactly interested in _teamwork_.”

        Joan immediately riled up.

        “Well what if there was something bigger that you had to worry about, huh? What if some enemy group starting moving in here, taking territories, hurting people, and—” she cut herself off, not wanting to babble about the things she had seen. She fought the urge to clap her hand over her mouth to physically prevent any more words from spilling out of it.

        “We _do_ have something to worry about,” Hancock replied heatedly. “The Institute? That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” He narrowed his eyes at her, turning them into small black slits on his face. “Your friend that they kidnapped, whats-his-face, Arcade?”

        Joan yanked at her tie and wished Mentats had never been invented.

        “Right, right,” she said, trying to gather herself in the web of lies she’d had to weave while she was here. She rubbed her temples and wished she were back in Vegas. She never had to lie to anyone in the Mojave—she commanded people to do things and they did them. The vast majority even did what she wanted voluntarily and enthusiastically, knowing that she had their best interests in mind. Those that wouldn’t listen to her found themselves much more compliant in the face of a swarm of Securitrons. She looked back up noticed that Hancock was still eyeing her and she didn’t like the look on his face—she could all but see the gears and levers turning behind his black eyes, much more intelligent than she had initially given him credit for and that his lackadaisical attitude let on.

        “Let’s put on some music,” she said quickly, flipping the dial on her Pipboy. The newscaster—Travis Miles, she had learned—was rattling on about a song before finally playing it. Hancock leaned his head back, pacified as they listened to the tune that danced in the dusty sun shafted air around them.

_Have you got a history that needs erasing?_

_Did you come in just for the beer and cigarettes?_

_A broken down dream you're tired of chasing_

        Joan craned her head back as well. Hancock had told her about this songstress: a Synth woman named Magnolia. She performed in a seedy bar in the bowels of Goodneighbor, and was popular enough that her music had been recorded for the local broadcast station. Joan idly wondered if she would ever come out this way again after she finished her business with the Legion; Magnolia would be a smash hit on the Strip, enough to rival even the Lonesome Drifter. She knew the denizens of Goodneighbor were fiercely loyal to each other and to their town, but even the staunchest patriot would part ways for the right amount of caps, she thought, the corner of her lip twitching upward.

_You came to the right place_

_Oh, where every night it starts once more_

_I'm telling you friend, your search is at an end_

_Cause I'm the one you're lookin' for_

        The two had relaxed, letting Magnolia take their cares and annoyances away from them. All too soon though, Travis Miles was back on, barking frantically as usual. Joan pressed her eyes shut, hoping he would return to the music.

_"Just when you thought you'd heard everything, folks—_ _there are tales being told about a very strange looking machine being built out there in the Commonwealth.... No one that's mentioned it, uhh... They don't know what it does, not for sure. This next part... Well, I mean it's just people talking, you know? Doesn't, uhh, doesn't make it true... Not necessarily…”_

        There was a strangled sounding pause on the air and Joan sucked in her breath, debating shutting off her Pipboy again and thinking instead of popping in the holotape of music she’d brought from Vegas. She’d take Johnny Guitar over Travis Miles any day.

_“But it's been said... Well, it has something to do with the Institute. Trying to blow it up, or make it disappear, or something. There aren't... There aren't really any details._ _If... If I were you, and I saw this thing? Well, uhh, you'd better believe that... you know, I'd run the other way!”_

        Joan’s eyes snapped open and she scrambled off the couch she’d been reclining on, swaying and wiry. She stared hard down at her Pipboy but Travis was already introducing the next song, babbling some pun about the upcoming music as Hancock watched her, his eyes clouded and hazy.

        “What?”

        “Didn’t you hear that?” she snapped at him. He sat up in his chair and the light behind his eyes belatedly switched on.

        “Holy shit, they’re gonna blow up the Institute?” he asked, alert once more. Joan was already pacing the room, alternating between yanking at her tie and spinning the buttons on her cuffs.

        “They can’t do that! I haven’t gotten—they still have my—shit, _shit_ ,” she said breathlessly, swallowing hard. She tore open the door of the house and ran out into the afternoon sun. The air was cold and crisp and leaves crunched under her feet as she dashed out onto the street, looking around as if she might spot the strange machine Travis had mentioned.

        “Whoa whoa, hey, calm down,” Hancock said, following her outside. Joan was tossing her head, panic welling up within her. _No no no_ , she thought, I can’t have come all this way for this, not now. I need those Synths, they’re mine, they’re mine, they’re MINE.

        “You want me to calm down?” she turned and hissed at him. “How the fuck am I supposed to calm the fuck down! They’re going to blow it up, everything I _need_ is there! I didn’t hike from fucking Vegas to have the Institute blow up!” she raved, clenching her clawed hands into fists. Hancock jerked away before staring at her again, comprehension dawning on his face.

        “Wait, wait, sister, _what_? I thought you said your _friend_ was there. _Everything you need_?”

        Joan stared at him, flabbergasted.

        “We’re just really close okay,” she said distractedly before taking off in a random direction. Hancock jogged to keep up with her.

        “Hey, I didn’t sign up to be someone’s side dish,” he warned her. Joan groaned and slapped her Pipboy.

        “Do you not think there are bigger problems right now? Christ!” she snapped at him.

        Hancock paused, catching himself.

        “You’re right—I’m sorry,” he said, looking temporarily abashed. The two stopped and stared at each other.

        “I’ve got to find that machine,” Joan said. She bit her lip, feeling a lump swell in her throat at the thought of everything she’d worked for slipping away from her. The flesh of Hancock’s brow line wrinkled together with sympathy.

        “Let’s head to Diamond City. Someone there obviously knows something,” he said.

        The two set off at a brisk pace.

        “At least we’re not too far,” Hancock commented. He was surprised at how fast her short legs were capable of carrying her.

        “I just pray to God we’re not too late,” she said raggedly. Hancock frowned at her again.

        “So… you never said you were from Vegas,” he said. Joan didn’t see any point in denying it.

        “Yes, I am.”

        “Like, New Vegas? I’ve heard of that place. Some weirdo took it over a few years back, I heard. Rules over it with a bunch of robots, apparently,” he said. Joan walked faster, resisting the mad urge to laugh, worried that if she let even a single giggle out that she would collapse onto the cracked road. She wasn’t sure if she would be cackling or sobbing. She steadied her breath and said the first words that came to mind.

        “Yeah. It’s really nice there. She keeps it safe.”

        “ _She_ , huh. Did she lose her friend out here too?”

        Hancock stopped in the middle of the road and Joan’s stomach clenched hard enough that she hunched slightly, her feet grinding to a stop on the cracked asphalt. She twisted her head, looking over her shoulder at Hancock. He was watching her openly before splaying his hands out.

        “Come on now, sister. What’d I say about bullshitting a bullshitter?”

        Color rose in her cheeks; he didn’t see her hand drift to her hip.

        “How do you know that?” she asked tensely. He cocked his head and grinned at her.

        “I didn’t—it was a lucky guess. Thanks for confirming it though.” He paused before continuing, the grin fading from his scarred face.

        “Why didn’t you just tell me? What, I’m gonna judge someone for shirking their leaderly duties? I know what it’s like. You’re just like I am, you’re doing your best to look out for your people. I can respect that.” He paused again, his grin turning cynical. “This Arcade guy must be pretty special for you to come all this way though. What’s he to you? Can’t be all _that_ great after that night we had.”

        Joan relaxed her hand; Hancock had merely guessed something close to the truth, without quite landing on it.

        “He really is just my friend. And he’s gayer than a box of crayons,” she snorted. Hancock relaxed.

        “So you were telling the truth then, that’s good to know. So what does the Institute want with him?” he asked.

        “I was honest about that too,” she lied. Perhaps the Mentats had some merit after all; the tales came easier to her now that they had been. “He’s an incredible doctor. He’s patched me up more times than I can count. He was almost kidnapped by—” she hesitated, not wanting to show her entire hand, yet finding it much easier to weave truth into the falsehoods. “By this psychopath out west. He had a brain tumor that he wanted Arcade to fix for him. He had a bit of a reputation as a warlord.”

        She watched Hancock carefully for any trace of recognition at the mention of Caesar. If he knew anything, his scarred face didn’t reflect it. Nothing at all. She wondered why no one out east had heard of Caesar’s Legion. Or—thinking back to what Joshua had said about Caesar rewriting history—what they had never learned in the first place, it occurred to her. Her thoughts wandered back to Vulpes Inculta. Perhaps it shouldn’t be so surprising; the Legion had deployed spies in the NCR long before the Republic even knew they existed. It didn’t seem at all unlikely that the Legion had also been keeping tabs on the lands east of Oklahoma and Colorado, and could have been suppressing any knowledge of them or their activities. She shivered, looking over her shoulder; she had felt safe from the prying eyes of the Frumentarii here in Boston, but now she was wondering whether she had been right to feel so sure about that.

        “Don’t sweat it,” Hancock said, resting his hand on her shoulder. Joan glanced at it stiffly before looking up at him. At the very least she felt a weight slide off her shoulders by revealing a portion of the truth, as meager as it was.

        “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you who I was,” she said. “I didn’t want to draw any attention to myself... In case the Institute did something to hurt Arcade.”

        Hancock nodded at her and she silently thanked God.

        “So, where’s your robot army?” he asked lightly as they began walking again. In the distance the cool blue stadium lights of Diamond City flickered on against the dusky evening sky.

        “Someone has to look over Vegas while I’m gone,” she replied.

        “How do you know they won’t just like… take the place over, you know? With you gone and all. Did you program them?” he asked curiously. Joan laughed.

        “They’re nothing like Synths, if that’s what you’re afraid of. They’re just standard robots. They won’t do anything that I haven’t personally directed them to do. Think of them like your Neighborhood Watch—you trust them not to stage a coup on Goodneighbor while you’re out here hoofing it with me, don’t you?” she said. Hancock laughed and she detected a trace of darkness in it.

        “Nah, they know better than that.”

        “There you go. Like you said, we’re not so different.” She paused before looking at him again and curiosity got the better of her.

        “How do you know about New Vegas? Most people out here seem pretty wrapped up in their own lives. I’m shocked you know about things going on out on the other side of the country,” she said. Hancock grinned at her.

        “They make some damn fine chems out west,” he said. “Caravans bring ‘em in a few times a year, and ya know, you hear a few things while the traders are slingin’. I don’t know much more than that though, to be honest. It was apparently a pretty big deal when _someone_ killed the former leader of New Vegas and took his place.”

        “Ah,” Joan replied stiffly. Hancock clapped her on the back.

        “I’m not judging sister—I did the exact same thing.”

        A few minutes later they were standing at the enormous green gate of Diamond City. Joan resisted the urge to glare at the guards milling about, at least until one of them stepped up to the two, appearing nervous and jittery.

        “H-Hancock,” he said. “You know we’re not really supposed to—” Hancock was just opening his mouth to say something when Joan cut in front of him, finally fed up. She thrust her scarred finger sharply up into the guard’s face and he recoiled away from it, his eyebrows shooting up under his helmet.

        “He’s with me, you filthy fucking pig, get the _fuck_ out of my way,” she snarled.

        Though he towered over her, the guard flinched and jumped aside. He looked deeply unhappy as they strode past him, boots thudding and low heels clacking across the pavement.

        “I hear any trouble in there, you’re gonna deal with me personally!” he called weakly after them. Joan and Hancock rolled their eyes, proceeding up the stairs that led to the stadium.

        “I can see why you’re the leader of New Vegas,” Hancock chuckled wryly.

        “I didn’t take over an army of robots by being cute and gentle.”

        “Sister, cute is not a word I’d _ever_ use to describe you,” Hancock said before pausing. “No offense.”

        “None taken,” she replied, smirking.

        A moment later they were in front of the meager looking office of Publick Occurrences. In front of the dilapidated building was a young girl standing on a crate, shilling newspapers.

        “Hey, buy a paper!” she barked, thrusting one of the rags at Joan. Hancock stepped in front of her.

        “What’s up Nat. We’re lookin’ for Piper, you seen her around?” he asked. The girl—Nat—looked at Hancock appraisingly.

        “I’ll tell you if you buy a paper,” she said. Joan narrowed her eyes at the girl before glancing down at the time on her Pipboy. She wasn’t sure how long it had been since she’d heard the news story about the machine—or how long that story had even been running. Her heart sank as it occurred to her that the Institute could be a smoldering pile of wreckage even as they stood there.

        “Yikes girl, you’re turning into a real cutthroat,” Hancock laughed, speaking conversationally with her. Joan drummed her fingers against her Pipboy impatiently, the panicky feeling rising within her once more.

        “This ain’t a charity,” Nat replied, shark-like. Joan was on the brink of throwing her entire sack of caps—several thousand’s worth—at the girl when the door of Publick Occurrences opened behind her.

        “Hancock?” A young woman stepped out of the corrugated building. She wore a faded news cap and was staring at Hancock suspiciously. Hancock chucked a cap at Nat, who jumped off the box and sprinted away.

        “My favorite reporter,” Hancock said warmly, stepping up to the woman with his arms open. She ducked him and stepped around his arms, looking at Joan.

        “You new here?” she asked, her eyes shifting between the two. Joan thrust out her hand, trying to calm herself.

        “You must be Piper,” Joan said. The woman nodded cautiously.

        “Can I help you?” Piper asked. She did not take Joan’s hand; Joan immediately disliked her.

        “We heard something on the radio, about someone building a machine to destroy the Institute or something. You know anything about that?” Hancock asked her easily. Loathe as Joan was to admit, it was best to let Hancock handle this woman; he was better at defusing social situations than she was. Piper relaxed, though she still wore a somber expression.

        “Not exactly. It’s Nick and June. They got a lead on the Institute, but haven’t been able to do anything about it for the last couple days,” she said, crossing her arms.

        “We were hoping to help them,” Hancock pressed. Piper eyed him for a moment before unlacing her arms and sighing.

        “They could use it. They’re in over their heads, I don’t know how to help them,” she said, biting at her lip distractedly and looking around. “They’re up at Sanctuary Hills, do you know it?”

        Piper’s eyes landed on the Pipboy on Joan’s arm.

        “Wow. Another Vault dweller? You don’t see those every day. Where are you from?” Piper asked, suddenly lighting up with curiosity and stepping closer to Joan. Joan resisted the urge to step back, though she did slip her arm behind her protectively, away from Piper’s uncomfortably prying eyes.

        “I’m not a Vault dweller,” she said quickly. Piper’s eyebrows arched and her smile widened even further.

        “Even better, that sounds much more interesting! Why don’t you come into my office, if I can ask you just a fe—”

        Hancock stepped in front of Joan, shielding her from Piper and Joan felt a small surge of affection for him.

        “Maybe later, Piper. We’ve got to get running, if Nick and his new client need help. She’s still looking for her son, right?” Hancock interrupted.

        Joan couldn’t see Piper, but did hear her sigh again.

        “Right, sorry. Yeah, June’s still looking for her son. Hopefully they’ll find him soon.”

        Piper stepped around Hancock, offering her hand to Joan.

        “It was nice to meet you. When you’re done helping June, stop by my office sometime. I’d love to ask you some questions,” she said. Joan took her hand gingerly, shaking it quickly before letting go.

        “We’ll see,” she said. Piper stepped back into her office, leaving Hancock and Joan on the dusty sidewalk outside.

        “What was that about a woman missing her son?” Joan asked.

        “I don’t know too much about it, really. It’s that woman Nick Valentine was with when you first popped up in Goodneighbor. The Institute kidnapped her son, and she’s been looking for him.” Hancock replied.

        “Damn. Well… Maybe everyone will get what they want tonight,” Joan said. She looked down at the map on her Pipboy, searching for a place called Sanctuary Hills. Her eyebrows shot up when she saw where it was located: right next to the Vault she had explored on her first day in the Commonwealth.


	7. Can't Go to Hell

Chapter 7: Can’t Go to Hell

_This innocence with ignorance has left us behind_

        The moon was low in the sky over Sanctuary Hills as Joan and Hancock approached the settlement. Joan checked her Pipboy; it was nearly three in the morning. Despite the late hour the settlement was lit up nearly as well as the Lucky 38, at least toward the center of the small neighborhood. Distantly she could detect the rattles and clanging of hammers and other tools. Flags waved wraith-like from each building; if she squinted she could just make out the silhouette of a rifle crossed with a bolt of lightning on each one. She double checked the map on her Pipboy, though she knew without a doubt that this was what she had been looking for. The Lord had finally made her path straight.

        “Would ya take a look at that,” Hancock commented. She pulled her eyes away from her Pipboy and followed his gaze toward an enormous spider legged shape, brightly illuminated from below; at the base of it was a small group of people standing at what looked like a computer console. Even from this distance she could see that they were agitated. She sped up, her heartbeat accelerating rapidly. She was so close.

        “—Please Sturges, you’ve got to know some way around this. I don’t know how these damn things work, I was a lawyer!” A woman—much taller than most women Joan had ever encountered—was standing next to the console. She had cropped fluffy blonde hair, and was wearing a long floral house dress that was belted at the waist. Her shoulders were shaking as she stood wringing her hands. The man she was speaking to ran his hands through his dark hair, looking sympathetic and tired.

        “I’m doing the best I can, June. I told you—I tinker. But I just don’t know the ins and outs of terminals,” he said, his accent thick and twangy. Beside him was another man, wearing a faded trench coat and battered fedora. He glanced up at the two as they approached, noticing them well before either of his companions did. Joan gasped—his eyes were bright yellow, illuminating his jagged features under the gloom of his hat. The man’s thin eyebrows rose in surprise before settling again, stern.

        “Hancock,” he said tersely. Hancock beamed at him, much the same way as he had done with Piper.

        “Nick Valentine, it’s been a while! I got another client for ya, one that wants to help you, I think,” Hancock said as they stepped up. The tall woman spun around and Joan only just managed to suppress another gasp; though she wore large white framed sunglasses, a long and angry looking scar was carved down the front of her cheek, disappearing under the thick plastic rim where her left eye was concealed. Most interestingly however was the Pipboy she wore on her arm. Joan quickly composed herself and thrust her hand out at the woman.

        “I’m Joan. I heard you’re looking for the Institute,” she said quickly. The tall woman looked down at her. She had to be nearly six damn feet tall, Joan thought, staring up at her. The woman took Joan’s hand in hers and gave it a delicate shake despite her large frame.

        “Yes, I am. I’m June, June Rockwell,” she said. A small dim light flickered to life in Joan’s brain, as if she should know this woman from somewhere. She ignored it and pressed on.

        “I don’t want to waste your time,” she said, business-like. “I heard you’re looking for your son and that the Institute has him. The Institute has something of mine too. Are you close to finding the Institute?”

        June’s mouth turned down at the corners and her shoulders started shaking again.

        “Yes,” she replied shakily. “I’m so close, I’m _so_ goddamn close! But we can’t figure out how to program this stupid console to use the machine. It’s… It’s a lot to explain, God, it’ll probably sound insane, I just don’t even know where to start.” She sounded on the verge of tears and Joan adjusted her tie uncomfortably. The Synth man, Nick Valentine, patted the tall woman on the shoulder before stepping forward.

        “Detective Nick Valentine,” he said, extending his hand. Joan looked down at it; it was metal, claw like and gleaming in the flood lights that had been installed on the roof of a nearby house. Her eyes flicked back to his face and he looked worn as well, even aside from his battered face, deeply lined and gouged, the imitation skin outright missing in some areas. Joan took his hand and shook it.

        “Joan, pleased to meet you,” she said automatically.

        “You said the Institute has something of yours?” he said, looking down at her. Joan immediately prickled at the scrutiny behind his strange eyes; she had the impression that he was much keener than most of the people she had met so far in the Commonwealth. She resisted the urge to tug at her tie again.

        “Yes. Piper told us you were here and that you needed help. So I’m here to help,” she replied, standing squarely in front of him. Nick hesitated before June leaped forward, seizing Joan’s small hands in her own, bending down to face her. Joan stiffened at the physical contact.

        “Please! We need all the help we can get,” she said, lighting up. Joan pulled her hands out of the other woman’s clutches, her fingers wriggling with freedom.

        “Why don’t you tell me everything that’s going on,” she said quickly. June stood straight again and contemplated the question for a moment before explaining that she had woken in a Vault several weeks ago and had been searching for her young son, Shaun, who had been taken from her, kidnapped by the Institute. The boy’s kidnapper had shot her husband dead during the incident. The light that had flickered to life in Joan’s mind flashed brightly.

        “Wait wait—the Vault you came from, it’s not Vault 111 is it?” she asked. Nick’s eyebrows jerked up and he shot a look at his client before turning his glowing eyes back on Joan, deeply suspicious. Joan threw her hands up.

        “I passed by that Vault shortly after I entered the Commonwealth, coming in from the west,” she explained quickly. “I was caught in a radstorm and needed shelter.” She held up her own Pipboy as proof. “I saw that someone had been through there. I saw… him, your husband. I’m sorry for your loss.”

        June’s eyebrows rose up over the frame of her glasses before settling again and she gave Joan a small smile.

        “Thank you, that means a lot. You didn’t see anything in there, did you?” she asked softly. Joan shook her head.

        “I’m sorry. Just a bunch of frozen dead people. Your husband’s body though… you shouldn’t go back down there,” she said, looking away. She couldn’t remember if she had closed his pod before she left, and she could only imagine the stench that must permeate the entire Vault by now.

        “So, this machine,” Joan began, ready to change the subject. Hancock milled around behind her, watching them. “What does it do?” she asked, stepping forward to run her hands over it. She had always had an affinity for computers, one that had come in handy after she had dethroned House. June sighed again. The man with the accent, Sturges, she had called him, sighed as well.

        “We can’t get the damn thing to work. We threw together this scrap heap of machinery and now we can’t get the damned thing programmed,” he said, drumming his gloved fingers against the console.

        “So you’ve said,” Joan replied impatiently. “But what is it supposed to _do_? I heard on the radio that you were trying to—to blow up the Institute with it. Or something.” Sturges and June shook their heads at her as Nick watched impassively.

        “Nothing like that,” June said. “We’re trying to get into the Institute. It sounds wild, but they use a sort of… teleportation technology. It’s called the Molecular Relay. We got the plans to try to make one ourselves, but we’re in over our heads trying to program it to work properly.”

        Joan’s pulse started to race. _Teleportation?_ , she thought. She breathed in deeply. Her desire to plumb the depths of what the rest of the Institute had to offer ignited into a full fire and she began to see possibilities far beyond just steamrolling Flagstaff and waving Vulpes Inculta’s head on a pike with an army of synthetic people behind her. She licked her lips.

        “That’s pretty damn impressive that you’ve gotten this far at all, from what I’ve heard. They’ve been nearly impossible for me to track down,” she said. “And these people have your son?”

        “Yes,” June replied, her voice thick with emotion once more. She started wringing her hands again. “He’s just a ba—” she caught herself and pressed her lips together so hard they turned nearly white. “He’s young, ten maybe. I don’t know. They’ve had him for a while. I was frozen when they took him.” Her chin started to crinkle and Nick finally broke from his passive stance, moving to stand closer to her. She seized his hand and held it tightly and Joan took a deep breath. It’s now or never, she thought. Hancock watched her with his arms folded across his chest.

        “Then maybe I can help you. I know computers _damn_ well,” she said. The group around her lit up with joy.

        “On one condition,” she paused, holding a single slim finger up to stop them. Her hands were cold. The group halted, the looks of elation frozen on their faces.

        “That you let me into the Institute with you,” she continued. Nick and Sturges immediately shot her a mutual look of disgust. She ignored them and held her chin high, staring only at June.

        “You want your son. I want what’s mine,” she reiterated. She could feel Hancock’s black eyes burning into her back. She licked her lips again, staring at the crowd around her. They looked like good decent people; the sort of people who wouldn’t put a gun to her head and force her to help whether she wanted to or not before leaving without her at best or shooting her dead for her efforts at worst. It wasn’t the highest stakes gamble she had ever undertaken.

        “Not one for charity, huh,” Nick said coldly. Joan continued staring at June, who was watching her, her features contorted with deliberation. June’s face darted back and forth between Nick Valentine and Joan. Joan doubled down.

        “I can do it. My job is working with machines. You give me a day to figure this out, just one day, and you can have your boy back by tomorrow evening,” Joan promised. Nick turned his eyes to June.

        “We can figure this out,” he argued. June bit her lip; Joan could see that she very much wanted to believe Nick. Joan’s fingers felt ice cold, but she waited with baited breath. Just wait for them to fold, she thought. You’ve laid out your hand. Just watch what they do.

        “We don’t even know this woman,” Nick continued. “You’re going to trust your life with her? That thing, that relay or whatever, it could teleport you anywhere, it could teleport you straight into a damn wall. Give Sturges some more time, he’ll get this figured out.”

        Sturges sighed, the first to break.

        “I don’t know, Nick. I appreciate what you think I can do, but I mean it. I built the damn thing, I know how to _make_ stuff. But programming? It really is just out of my league. What about the guy who gave you the schematics? Could he help?”

        “Virgil? No, he’s… not capable of helping. And he’s in the Glowing Sea. He’s not leaving,” Nick replied. Impulsively Joan turned away from the trio. She caught Hancock’s eyes; he looked disappointed in her. It stung, but she persisted.

        “Well, you all seem to have made up your minds,” she said coldly. “I’ll find my own damn way.” She had gotten as far as three steps before June raced up to her, grabbing her wrist with surprising force. Joan silently sucked in a hard breath with pain as she was spun around.

        “Do you really mean it? One day?” June’s voice was intense and her eyes burned into Joan’s through their glasses.

        “Absolutely,” Joan replied. “I take longer than a day and you can leave without me, how about that? I just want what’s mine. Whatever issue you have with the Institute is your own, you wanna start a war with them, go right ahead. It’s none of my business.” This was a lie, of course. If she thought the woman would so much as try to hamper her plans she was more than happy to put a bullet in her head and reunite her with her husband. She was too close to fail now. She staunchly maintained her gaze and June bit her lip and let her go.

        “I just want my baby boy back,” she said, and Joan winced at the single tear that slid out from under her white oval glasses. For the Mojave, she thought. This is worth it for them.

        The two returned back to the group. Hancock was now standing beside Nick and Sturges. Nick looked less than pleased with this turn of events, Hancock even less so.

        “I need room to work, people,” Joan commanded, spreading her arms as she stepped up to the console.

        “It’ll be fine, Nick. I have to do this, for Shaun,” June whispered, pulling Nick away into one of the houses. A rusted tricycle sat in front of it. Sturges also wandered away, leaving her alone with Hancock.

        “Your _things_ , huh,” he leaned down to her. His voice had taken an unpleasant edge. Joan’s fingers stiffed over the keyboard of the console.

        “I didn’t want to let them know about Arca—”

        Hancock cut her off, tossing his hands up with anger.

        “Really, after all that earlier? Dammit sister, where does it end with you?”

        Joan whipped around, staring sharply up at him.

        “I want what I want, Hancock,” she said tensely. “I made an honest deal. I don’t know how things work out here in Boston, but out west, a fair deal is a fair deal. _Quid pro quo_. I think my offer is more than generous.”

        “She’s looking for her damn kid!” Hancock shot back at her. “Christ sister, I’m not supposed to be the beacon of morality here. That was fucking cold what you did back there.”

        Joan twisted away from him, turning back to the blank terminal screen.

        “So what, you’re going to stop me? Because I _am_ right—she _needs_ me to get in there.”

        Hancock groaned.

        “Like I said, I didn’t sign up for this shit. Do what you’re gonna do, I’m out,” he said, turning away. Joan heard his boots thump away from her, and she waited until she couldn’t hear them anymore before looking back at him. He was nearly to the bridge that led into Sanctuary Hills. Guilt twisted in her, but she did her best to suppress it—this was an unfortunate necessity.

        After ascertaining that she was truly alone, Joan slipped her hand inside her suit jacket, seizing the holotape that had been nestled inside it for much of the past year. She was confident enough in her skills that she was sure she actually could crack the coding that had stumped June Rockwell and her friends, but she was in a hurry; if it really was that difficult she doubted even Robert House could have done it in a single day. She popped the holotape into the deck and waited patiently. After a moment the screen flickered to life.

        “ _Hi_ there, Ma’am!”

        “Be quieter, Yes Man,” she said, bending her head close to the console and shielding the brightly smiling screen from anyone that might pass by; it was unlikely at this hour of the night but she wasn’t going to take any chances.

        “Of _course_ , Ma’am,” he replied in a theatrical whisper. “What can I do for you?”

        Joan felt a thrill of joy surge in her—though she was only speaking to the small partition of him that had been divided before leaving New Vegas, it felt like coming home to hear his voice again. She grinned at him.

        “Oh Yes Man, you don’t even know how much I’ve missed you,” she said, leaning on her elbows. Yes Man’s expression did not change, though he sounded noticeably pleased when he spoke again.

        “I’ve _really_ missed you too, Ma’am, even though from my perspective we just spoke _five minutes_ ago! Five minutes _too long_ , in fact! I can guess that you’re in Boston—are you at the Institute?”

        “Not yet, but I nearly am. I’ve installed you on a terminal that I need some help with. The Institute has a teleportation device, and I need to program it, and it needs to be done within about—” she glanced at the time on her Pipboy, “about fourteen hours. Can you do that?”

        “Let me see,” Yes Man said, and the machine whirred with activity. The screen went temporarily dark and Joan waited patiently. A few minutes later Yes Man’s happy face popped back up again.

        “Hmm, it’s a tough nut to crack, I’ll give them that. I _can_ do it though—I estimate it’ll take twelve-point-two hours to manage, Ma’am.”

        “Can you do it while showing what you’re doing? I have to look like I’m the one actually doing this,” she said. Yes Man laughed and immediately the screen switched; rows of parentheses, numbers and letters rolled by. Faster than any human would be capable of, but hopefully the people of Sanctuary Hills wouldn’t notice.

        “I’ve disabled the keyboard so you can even pretend to type if you want!” Yes Man offered enthusiastically.

        “God, I’ve missed you.” Joan reached out and touched the screen with her fingertips. Yes Man always had a knack for thinking of the little things, she thought affectionately. Over her shoulder the horizon was just beginning to lighten to a dusty purple. She cracked her neck and rolled her shoulders; it was going to be a long day of pretending to be hard at work.


	8. Somebody to Love

Chapter 8: Somebody to Love

_I have spent all my years in believing you, but I just can’t get no relief_

        The sun hung low in the sky over Sanctuary Hills, catching a rare piece of unrusted metal on the siding of the house in front of Joan and reflecting sharp rays of light directly into her eyes. She squinted and buried her face back into the monitor she’d been staring at for the past half a day. Someone had been kind enough to bring her a chair to sit in as she worked—as Yes Man worked—and she was slumped in it, her fingers aching and she was bored nearly out of her mind. Hours ago she felt like she would have rather taken her damn chances doing the work herself instead of sitting and productively doing nothing. Quietly she had asked Yes Man if that was an option; he had told her that it was only an option if she wanted to spend three straight days doing it herself.

        “So, how’s the work coming?”

        Joan didn’t risk pulling her eyes away from the screen, ‘typing’ with intensity. Nick Valentine had an arm slung over the top of the console, looking down at her. He seemed to be in a friendlier mood today, at least as far as she could tell—even the best dealers in Vegas would have a difficult time reading his face, she thought.

        “Fine, fine,” she said distractedly.

        “You’ve really been at that. Gotta hand it to you, kid, I didn’t think you’d actually buckle down.”

        “I’m _not_ a kid,” she bristled. I’m the leader of fucking Vegas, she thought with contempt.

        “Sure, sure,” he said before wandering off again. She bent close to the terminal, her nose nearly touching the screen.

        “ _Are you almost done yet_?” she whispered. She couldn’t wait to be finished with this farce. She wanted the Institute.

        “Just a _few_ more minutes, Ma’am. Though I must say,” Yes Man hesitated. “This is going to be dangerous. This machine isn’t very stable and is likely to fall apart just sending you two through to the Institute. I’ve deciphered some coordinates through that musical signal you told me about, and it looks like it’s just under the ruins of the Commonwealth Institute of Technology. Is this your only option to access the building?”

        “As far as I know. Why? What’s the risk here, give me a number,” she said.

        “Hummm… it looks like a thirty-eight point seven percent chance that you’ll both rearrange your molecules in a way that would make… continued existence a _little bit difficult_ ,” Yes Man answered her in a shrill whisper.

        Joan gave the screen a cocky grin.

        “What are the odds of surviving a point blank gunshot wound to the head?”

        There was a lengthy pause.

        “… You’re absolutely right Ma’am, _what_ could go wrong,” Yes Man replied, in as scathing a tone as his programming allowed. Joan laughed before bending forward, serious again.

        “So how do you think I should do this? As I’m sure you’ve seen by now the Institute is pretty well set up. I can’t just go in there guns blazing. They’re very well organized.”

        “Hmm,” Yes Man paused for a moment. “You’re right, as usual, that going in and waving your pistol might not be the _best_ idea. Can you gain their trust instead? It worked pretty well with Mr. House. In my opinion, that would be your best bet. Get in there, assess the situation, look for any chinks in their proverbial armor and then make your move. Easy peasy!”

        Joan leaned back in her chair, stretching her short legs out and contemplating. She was so tired of being everything she wasn’t out here in the east. Yet again she longed to be done with this whole affair and to be back home; the Mojave was dangerous, but it was better to dance with the devil you knew than the devil you didn’t. Still, she couldn’t deny that Yes Man’s plan was more concrete than anything she herself had come up with.

        “I suppose you’re right. How close are you to being done?” she asked.

        “Right now actually, Ma’am. Go ahead and pop me out—I’ll see you at the Institute!” On its own, the holotape containing Yes Man spat out of the console and Joan snatched it, sliding it back into her suit jacket and patting it securely. The enormous platform before her lit up, buzzing to life. It was connected to a spider web of wires and other machinery, and she took a moment to feel fortunate that she hadn’t had to figure all of that out at least. Joan stood from her seat, stiff. The fatigue that had threatened to pull her under was receding in the wake of her goal finally surfacing on the horizon. She called over June and Nick, who beckoned Sturges.

        “I’m done. Just as I told you,” she said, spreading her hands out. June looked nearly frantic with excitement before turning serious.

        “Thank you, Joan. I don’t know what it is you want from the Institute, but I just want my boy, Shaun. Are we ready to go?” she asked.

        Joan nodded at her, stepping aside so that Sturges could have her chair. She and June climbed onto the platform—a tight squeeze, but they fit.

        “Hey,” Nick said, stepping up next to the platform. June looked down at him and Joan could see her face turn faintly pink. “Don’t do anything crazy in there, alright? Stay safe,” he continued. The corners of June’s lips turned downward once again and Joan felt a strange pang of sadness at the shadow of fear that passed over June’s face.

        June extended her pale arm, reaching out to Nick.

        “I’ll miss you,” she said. Nick gave her a smile, his face more open and bright that Joan had seen during her brief time in Sanctuary Hills. He took her hand in his metal one, fingers interlacing and gave her a squeeze.

        “I’ll be right here waiting for you.” His tone was tender; a stab of envy cut deeply into Joan’s stomach and she looked away, feeling as though she were an intruder on their moment. She resisted the urge to drum her fingers against her Pipboy.

        “Alright you two, it’s go time. Nick you uh, you better step back from the platform,” Sturges called out. The machine sparked to life, roaring as electricity cut the air around them and Joan and June pressed against each other to distance themselves from the flashing arcs of light. Nick jumped back from the platform, his golden eyes still on June.

        “Good luck in there, General! Go get Shaun!” Sturges yelled over the electricity. A few other people gathered—at a safe distance—around the platform, cheering for June and bidding her to stay safe. The machine shook and rattled around them, making jarring popping noises before the arcs of electricity fused into each other, forming a solid wall of light around them. Joan was suddenly gripped with an aching bout of loneliness and fear, recalling Yes Man’s estimation of her chances of survival; she clawed inside her jacket and grasped her bible before silently uttering a quick prayer to God that their trip would be a safe one.

        As the blinding blue light consumed them, Joan thought only of Joshua Graham.

***

        Light and noise roared around Joan and she felt as though she were being ripped apart. She thought she might be sick, or perhaps she felt like she _should_ be sick, but she found that she could not. Everything felt loose and unattached; she couldn’t even scream. She tried to look around, to reach out for someone, anyone, but her hands weren’t there, nothing was.

        Then all at once the world stitched itself together around her and she was rebuilt anew. The light surged around her, blinding, and with a final electric zap she was standing, whole and complete again. She stumbled, catching herself against a surface as she frantically blinked her eyes, trying to erase the rainbow of spots that clouded her vision. She heard June coughing and sputtering and could just make out her large shape, hunched over on the floor on her knees.

        “Are you alright?” Joan coughed out. June groaned in response. Joan bent and seized June’s upper arm, helping her to her feet and the two supported each other for a moment before stepping apart and checking themselves over, assessing that everything was accounted for. Joan patted inside her jacket: Platinum Chip, bible, Yes Man holotape, Med-X. All the necessities were accounted for. She straightened her glasses and stepped out of the small room they had teleported into, June hot on her heels.

        The room was… underwhelming. A single large terminal console took up the center of the chamber, quietly beeping and whirring in the stagnant air.

        “Is this it?” Joan said, walking further into the room. Though everything was clean it looked much like any relatively well kept office on the surface.

        “This can’t be it, I know they have Shaun, I know they have him,” June replied distractedly. Her heels were already clacking away from Joan and she sprinted to catch up to her. The office led to a smaller room that was lined with monitors and charts. Joan squinted at them, trying to decipher them, but they meant nothing to her. June lit a cigarette and stood for a moment, taking deep pulls. Joan turned to watch her; she could see the cherry zig-zagging in the gloomy darkness of the room.

        “It’s… it’s going to be okay,” she said, feeling a twinge of guilt again. She reached up and awkwardly patted June’s shoulder. June looked down at her and she briefly saw her eyebrows rise up over her sunglasses before disappearing again. June gave her a nervous smile and the jagged scar cutting across her cheek tilted up with it. Joan wanted to ask her what had happened; she did not do this. She debated instead how to proceed when a radio crackled to life above them.

        “Welcome to the Institute. I must admit, I am rather surprised there are… two of you. But no matter. We have much to discuss.”

        Joan and June glanced around for the source of the disembodied voice.

        “Do you know who that is?” Joan stood on her tiptoes and whispered to June. She shook her head, her pale blonde hair bouncing.

        “I can only imagine what you've heard, what you must think of us, but I'd like to show you that you may have... the wrong impression,” the voice continued. “For over a hundred years, we've dedicated ourselves to humanity's survival. Decades of research, countless experiments and trials... A shared vision of how science can help shape the future. It has never been easy, and our actions are often misinterpreted by those above ground. Someday, perhaps, we can show them what we have accomplished. But for now, we must remain underground. There's too much at stake here to risk it all. As you've seen, things above are... unstable.”

        Joan’s heartbeat sped up and she reached inside her jacket to run her fingers across the holotape there. Soon, she thought.

        “I'd like to talk to you about what we can do... for everyone.”

        A door slid open before them, leading into what looked like an elevator. Joan stepped inside it immediately; June hung back, the butt of her cigarette dangling in her fingertips.

        “ _Please_ ,” the voice urged. Joan thought she could detect a melancholy note in its tone. “All I ask is that you see the Institute with your own eyes. Every question you have will be answered.”

        June took a deep breath before dropping the cigarette butt onto the floor and mashing it in with the tip of her cream colored pump. She stepped into the elevator beside Joan and for a moment she was reminded of Joshua—June seemed to swell even larger beside her than she already was. Joan reflexively shrank back against the wall.

        “You’d better fucking have my boy! I want Shaun!” she shouted to the ceiling as the elevator descended. There was no tremble of emotion in her voice now, just cold and steely resolve. As they continued their slow descent a sliver of light appeared at the base of the glass wall of the elevator which grew larger and larger, finally opening wide enough that Joan could see outside the cramped space. She gasped.

        The Institute. It was blindingly white and pristine. Men and women in jumpsuits—scientists, Joan assumed—walked the long winding paths that circled the enormous underground compound. She spun around, eager to drink in more of it. Imposing looking figures in long black coats studded the walkways and stairs, watching the elevator descend with placid interest. Amidst the stacked levels of the ground beneath them grew vibrant green trees and lush swaths of grass. Peppered among them were robots that looked like Nick Valentine, though much cleaner and neater. They paused to watch the elevator before resuming their monotonous looking chores. Joan pressed her hands against the glass, staring hungrily at all of it. She had known the Institute must be serious to be manufacturing synthetic people, but this was beyond even her wildest expectations. It made the Big Empty look downright primitive.

        “My God,” she whispered against the glass. She craned her head to look at June. June looked thoroughly unimpressed with all of it, standing with her arms folded across her generous chest, tapping one heel impatiently against the glass floor. Joan pulled herself away from the wall, hastily rubbing at the handprints she had left.

        The elevator came to smooth stop, its doors sliding open soundlessly. June immediately strode out, her heels loud against the tiled floor. Joan stepped out after her, almost anxious with excitement. She prayed Yes Man’s programming would be up to the task ahead of him. He had learned a lot over the years that he had been integrated with Robert House’s network; she could only hope House was every bit as smart as he had bragged he was.

        The two made their way through a long winding metal corridor. June was walking quickly now; Joan had to nearly jog to keep up with her long stride.

        “Another damn elevator?” June grumbled. They stepped inside it and June punched the button causing it to ascend. It was a much shorter trip this time; after only a moment it shuddered to a bumpier stop than the flashy glass elevator had. The doors remained closed however, even when June jabbed at the button again. The radio came to life once more.

        “I know _you_ … June, are here for a very personal reason. I have waited for this for a long time,” the voice said.

        “Open the goddamn door,” June snapped. Joan flinched back from her again. She hoped this trip wasn’t about to turn volatile; she was quickly garnering the impression that June Rockwell was capable of being far more dangerous than she’d initially perceived. She kept her hand close to her pistol as the door finally slid open. Again, June stepped out first, taking a few quick steps before stopping. She gasped loudly and charged ahead and Joan dashed after her.

        “ _Shaun_?” June whispered. Joan rounded the corner just in time to see June press against a small glass pen set into the corner of the small room they had just entered. Within it was a young boy: his hair was as radiantly blonde as June’s.

        “Yes? I’m Shaun,” the boy replied, tilting his head to look up at her.

        “Shaun, _Shaun_ , baby, I’ve been looking for you! Are you alright, have they hurt you?” June was bouncing from side to side, pushing at the glass, trying to free the small boy. The boy, Shaun, stepped back from her and looked frightened.

        “Who are you? I don’t know you,” he cried. June’s face wrenched, her mouth gaping with pain. Tears began to rain freely down her face, spotting the yellow collar of her dress.

        “Shaun, it’s _me_ , it’s your mother, I’ve come to save you, don’t be afraid, it’s just me!”

        The boy was flattened against the furthest wall of his pen now and Joan bit her lip. Though they were both strangers to her she couldn’t help but feel a touch of June’s pain. She stood away from the glass pen and started twisting her hands together, hoping that this would be over with soon.

        “I don’t know you! F-Father, Father!” Shaun cried out. “Father help me, help, there’s a strange lady here!” The boy looked to be on the verge of tears and June dragged her fingers helplessly down the glass.

        “It’s going to be okay Shaun, it’s going to—”

        A door against the far wall slid open and an older man in a lab coat and green vest stepped through.

        “Shaun,” the man said authoritatively. “S9-23, recall code: Cirrus.”

        The young boy immediately stilled, his small chin drooping to his chest, his eyes staring blankly and unblinkingly forward. Joan’s eyes widened.

        “Mmn. Fascinating, but disappointing,” the man said. Joan quickly crossed the room to better see him as June’s skirt rustled. Joan gasped; June had pulled a small pistol of her own from her dress and pointed it directly at the older man. He immediately thrust his hands into the air and took a single step backward.

        “Wait! Don’t do anything you’ll regr—” he started before she cut him off.

        “What the _hell_ did you do with my son?” June closed the gap between them and shoved the tip of her gun directly into the older man’s cheek. He was breathing rapidly but remained otherwise composed. Joan drew her own pistol and scrambled across the room.

        “Wait, June, don’t! We—we need to see what he has to say,” she said quickly.

        “Stay the _fuck_ out of this,” June snarled, looking down at Joan, who took a step backward. She gingerly lifted her pistol at June, who glanced at it as though she had merely brandished a toy at her.

        “You said you weren’t going to get in my way. I want my son. They have my son. I’m going to do whatever it takes to get him back,” June continued stiltedly.

        “Please, just _listen_ —” The older man was silenced by June mashing her gun into his cheek again.

        “My son. Now. I don’t know what that _thing_ is over there,” she said, jerking her head toward the Synth child. “But I want him. The _real_ Shaun. Give me my goddamn boy back!”

        “ _I_ am Shaun,” the older man said, lowering his chin and staring determinedly into June’s face. June’s jaw clenched before she continued, her voice low and menacing.

        “Do not fuck with me. I saw him, in Kellogg’s memories. My son is a ten year old boy, not an old man. You have ten seconds before this room gets a new paint job.”

        The older man, Shaun, took a steadying breath, his fingers flexing. Joan wasn’t sure what to do, her eyes bouncing back and forth between to the two, trying to formulate a plan before everything went completely sideways.

        “In the Vault, you had no concept of the passage of time. You were released from your pod, and went searching for the son you'd lost. But then you learned that your son was no longer an infant, but a ten year old boy. You believed that ten years had passed—is it really so hard to accept that it was not ten, but sixty years?” he said, his eyes never wavering from June’s face. Joan felt a shiver overcome her—though she had no particular reason to believe this old man, it seemed to her that he was speaking the truth.

        “That can’t be right,” June replied, a small tremble in her voice. Shaun seized on it.

        “I think you know deep down that it is. What reason would I have to lie to you? The Institute took me, raised me, made me their leader. And here I am now, the son you have searched for, standing right in front of you.”

        “ _You’re their leader_?” Joan blurted out. Mother and son turned to look at her, their eyebrows arched in unison. This time Joan raised her pistol with conviction, aiming it squarely at June’s temple.

        “June. Listen to me. Let him go,” she said, her voice low and even. June’s mouth pursed into a thin white line.

        “You said—”

        “ _Fuck_ what I said,” Joan interrupted her. “Does it really seem that insane to you that he’s your son? Look at you! You’re mashing your gun so hard into his face he’s already starting to bruise. This is how you treat your—your own flesh and blood, your family, your _tribe_? Lower your gun.”

        June glanced back at Shaun and winced; the muzzle of her pistol was ground deep into the grooved hollow of his cheek, turning it was angry and red. She withdrew her gun and Shaun’s hand immediately flew to his cheek to massage it, the other still raised defensively.

        “Though I do not know this woman,” Shaun began, “she is right. I am your son, whether you like it or not.”

        “But… the things you’ve done,” June sputtered. Her pistol was still aimed at Shaun, albeit at a respectful distance now. “The kidnappings, the way you treat the Synths, it’s—it’s disgusting! You treat them like slaves! I’ve seen it!”

        Shaun’s eyes hardened.

        “Do not be mistaken. Yes, they look human, they even do an exceptional job of acting human, but they are not. They are no more human than that _detective_ you have been running around with.”

        It was immediately obvious that he had said the wrong thing—June swelled with rage, her face turning an ugly shade of red.

        Instinctively, Joan leapt at June; it was like crashing into a brick wall, but it was enough. The three cowered with their arms raised protectively as a bullet whizzed past Shaun’s ear, ricocheting off the metal wall.

        “ _Mother_!” Shaun shrieked with terror in the deafeningly ringing room. During the scuffle to take cover June’s glasses had been knocked off; she looked up at Shaun and Joan’s breath hitched in her throat.

        Her bold green eyes were stained red with flowing tears again and the corners of her lips were arched downward so severely that even the scar that carved through her eyebrow and down over her cheek lengthened with it. She scrambled to her feet. Joan and Shaun slowly stood up as well.

        “Mother, please, you’ve got to believe me,” Shaun began. A small sob escaped June’s throat.

        “ _I believe you_ ,” she said, her voice thick. Shaun brightened and he reached out to her.

        “But I can’t do this,” she continued. “You… you’re a monster. You might be my son… but I don’t love you. Not if this is what you’ve become.”

        It was Shaun’s turn to gasp. For an instant Joan saw hurt spring to life in his eyes before they swiftly shuttered again. Joan was aghast; this is what someone in the Commonwealth deemed a monster? She could show them a monster, an army of them, spread out over Arizona and New Mexico.

        “If that’s how you choose to see things, then I…” he trailed off and Joan’s eyes darted back and forth between the two of them. “I can’t force you to see reason. If you can’t— _won’t_ —accept the work that the Institute has done for humanity, then I cannot force you. Understand, though, that I cannot allow you to remain within the Institute.” He paused and swallowed and Joan felt a swell of empathy for him—she was reminded of the terrible fight she had with Veronica the night she had left the Lucky 38.

        June stood before them, her lips trembling, her gun hanging loosely in her pale hand.

        “I am sorry,” Shaun said. “I must think first of the safety of the Institute. In the cruel world that has developed, those who are not with us are against us. You may have safe passage back to the Relay where you will be sent back to the surface, but from that point... you will be exiled.”

        He looked away from his mother and caught Joan’s eye; Joan flicked her eyes away and back to June, who had shoved her glasses back on her face. Her hand twitched before stilling and she spun around, her dress billowing around her as she silently swept out of the room and back to the elevator. Shaun stood as still as a statue as he watched her leave.

        “You are… free to return with her,” he said quietly. Joan looked up at him and he returned her gaze. Now that June was gone she could see the glossy wetness slicking his eyes.

        “I want to help the Institute,” she said. His eyebrows arched upward.

        “Please. I’ve traveled a very long distance. I’ve heard of the work you’ve done, and I think I can be a valuable asset. I know I can’t replace…” Joan trailed off, looking at the corner June had disappeared around. “I would never try to replace her. But I think I have a lot to offer you, if you’ll just hear me out.” She pressed her hand to her chest for emphasis and she could feel the outline of the holotape there, but elected to ignore it for the moment. In Shaun she saw herself; she understood that leadership sometimes required a person to do things that benefited the whole group—sometimes at the expense of the individual—and thought that he might understand the burden of that weight as well. She drew her hand away from her chest and extended it to Shaun.

        “I’m Joan.”

        He took her hand carefully and shook it.

        “I am Shaun, though here I am known as Father. We—the Institute—do not normally permit outsiders from the surface to enter unless they have been very carefully vetted. But… I must thank you. You saved my life. That has at least earned you the right to convince me that you might be an advantage to us. Please; come up to my office.”


	9. Blood in the Water

Chapter 9: Blood in the Water

_If you listen here closely, there's a knock at your front door_

        “Now that you’re well acquainted with everyone, Father has asked for you to see him. He says he’s got a job for you.”

        Joan was sitting at a table in the cafeteria, nibbling from a bar of food labeled _Assigned Nutrition_. Nothing on the package indicated a flavor, only a long list of nutrients and ingredients. She supposed it had an underlying hint of meat-and-potatoes, but it mostly tasted like compacted sand; she never thought she would have missed Cram.

        “What was that?” she said distractedly, chewing her flavorless bar. A petite blonde woman was standing behind her and she tapped her small white shoe.

        “The Director took an enormous risk allowing you to enter the Institute. I really think you should be taking your position more seriously,” the woman said, staring down at the top of Joan’s black hat, her lips pursed. Joan swallowed the last dry bite of her bar before pushing away from the table and standing. She was tired. She had been in the Institute for three days now, and had been subjected to meeting more people than she could keep track off, and all of them had a battery of never ending questions for her. How had she learned of the Institute, why was she interested in working with them, what benefits could she bring to the table for them, where was she originally from, the list went on and on and on. She didn’t think she’d ever been so heavily interrogated about anything in her life.

        “I’m sorry,” she said. The lies were coming easier to her now at least; she thought the Frumentarii themselves might have been impressed with her by this point. “It’s just a lot to take in. You’re…” she paused, rifling through the roster of people in her mind, “Allie Filmore, right?” The other woman nodded at her and her expression softened.

        “Of course, Joan. I’ve been here my entire life, I forget how overwhelming this must all be to an outsi—someone from the surface,” she said. Joan gave her a dry smile.

        “So, the Director would like to see me?”

        “Oh, yes. Right away actually, he said he’s got a job for you, and it sounds important,” Allie said, tracing a finger through the air until it pointed at the level Shaun’s quarters were located at. “It’s right up there, on Level Two. Don’t keep him waiting.”

        “Alright then,” Joan replied, turning to make her way to the elevator that penetrated the center of the facility. She paused, remembering what Yes Man had told her and twisted back to Allie, smiling as nicely as she could.

        “It must be very important, if he sent his Chief of Engineering; thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to come fetch me,” she said. Allie raised an eyebrow before smiling sardonically back at her.

        “Don’t be a kiss-ass, Joan. Just go see what Father wants,” she replied. Joan’s smile widened, turning genuine. She loathed pretending to be friendly with people; she could appreciate a direct attitude. Allie noticed and her smile broadened as well, losing its hard edge as the two parted.

        Fortunately Shaun’s—or Father as he preferred to be called—office was easy to spot from the common area of the Institute. Joan rode the elevator up to his quarters and stepped out.

        “Ah, Joan, you’re here, good. Have you been getting to know everyone?” Shaun greeted her as she exited the elevator.

        “Yes, thank you. I must say… I’ve never seen anything remotely like this on the surface,” she replied, embracing a rare moment of honesty. Shaun smiled at her warmly. She had been surprised at how receptive he was to her presence when he had interviewed her in his office. The two had instantly developed a small bond as they spoke about the people of the surface, united in their mutual distaste for the residents of the Commonwealth, although privately Joan thought he was quite sheltered; he—and many others in the Institute—thought the people of the Commonwealth lived like wild animals, some of them even going so far as to say that they represented the worst in humanity. Joan’s smile had turned plasticky and stiff every time one of them said something like that. These people had no idea what true monsters existed out in the world. It also confirmed her suspicion that these people had never heard of Caesar’s Legion; there was simply no way that they would have been able to focus on anything other than their eradication if they knew about them. There would be no mankind to redefine under the flag of the Bull; especially not when more than half of the residents of the Institute—many of them in positions of power and prestige—were women.

        “Allie Filmore told me that you have a job for me,” Joan said as they walked back to Shaun’s office.

        “Indeed, I do. I’d like to send you on a mission to the surface. You’ve proven yourself more than technologically adequate, but I think your individual talents would be better utilized above ground. We would like to see how you fare undertaking a task that most down here are ill-suited for,” he said. Joan arched her eyebrows at him.

        “So you’re testing me?”

        Shaun paused, looking at her pointedly.

        “Yes, we are. I think that is fair,” he replied evenly. Joan supposed that it was; these people didn’t know her from any other wastelander, they had no way of knowing the feats she had already accomplished. She relaxed her shoulders and smiled, genuine this time.

        “I would do the same in your shoes. So what can I do for you?” she said. Shaun visibly brightened.

        “I am glad you see it that way. Though you may think of this as a test, it _is_ an important task—we have received intelligence about a piece of prewar technology, called the Deep Range Transmitter. We want you to go and retrieve it.”

        “And the catch?”

        “Of course. We intercepted this intelligence from a member of the Brotherhood of Steel. As we speak a group of them are on their way to try to claim it for their own. We cannot allow that to happen.”

        Joan fought back an aggravated wince. The Brotherhood of Steel. Of course. Of all the groups that could be causing trouble, it would be them. She raised her palms, gesturing to herself.

        “You can’t possibly mean to send me alone on this,” she said. Shaun looked at her in earnest surprise.

        “What, no, of course not, this isn’t a suicide mission. We’ll be deploying you straight into ArcJet Systems with a division of Second Generation Synths, as well as a Courser. I wouldn’t send you if I thought you weren’t up to the task.”

        Joan relaxed, glad that she would have backup; they weren’t Securitrons, but they would have to do. Shaun glanced down at his watch.

        “We need to deploy as soon as possible,” he said.

        “I’m ready to go right now,” she replied. Shaun smiled at her again and it touched her—she could understand why everyone called him Father instead of Director. She thought back to another Father, one who resided in the Caves. She warmed, feeling that she was on the right path—God did not allow for coincidences, and she firmly believed that everything that happened in her life was with reason and purpose.

        “That is exactly what I wanted to hear. Head up to the Relay; we’ll send you out as soon as you’re ready,” he said. Joan nodded at him and swept out of his office.

        A few minutes later she stepped into the spacious open room with the terminal that took up the center, the Relay lying just beyond it. Standing beside the terminal was a tall dark skinned man. The Courser, judging by his long black coat. With his buzzed hair, black sunglasses and stoic expression she was swiftly reminded of a member of the Legion. She hesitated before seizing control of herself and marching up to him, her short heels tapping the floor as she crossed the room. She thrust out her hand at him and he looked down at it for a moment before shaking it firmly.

        “You must be the Courser that Sha— _Father_ has assigned to me,” she said, looking up at him.

        “That is correct. Designation X6-88, Ma’am,” he replied. She lit up—all the other Synths addressed her as ‘Miss’. Only her Yes Man called her Ma’am, as she preferred to be called. Though small, it reminded her of being home, and being accorded the level of respect she was used to.

        “Interesting name,” she commented with a half smile. His expression did not change.

        “It serves its function. Are you ready to depart, Ma’am?”

        She immediately found his presence much more tolerable than the other Synths, perhaps because he reminded her more of a robot than a fellow human being—he was a Synth and there was no mystery about it, no effort to blend in or conceal it. What you saw was what you got.

        “Let’s do this.”

***

        “Ugh,” Joan winced, patting her clothes and hat and making sure everything was where it should be. Using the Relay had been no less jarring the second time than it had been the first.

        “Are you alright, Ma’am?” X6-88 asked. He stood beside her, completely unruffled by the journey.

        “Yes, thank you, I’m fine,” she replied automatically. She took in her new surroundings; she, X6-88 and a group of a dozen or so Synths had teleported into a cavernous looking space. She glanced up; it was so large that she couldn’t discern the ceiling, only a massive shape hanging in the darkness above them. She squinted at the gloomy mass before jumping away from the group and skittering to the far side of the large room—they had teleported directly underneath the thruster of a large rocket. The Synths followed her lead and began to spread out, drawing their laser weapons. Joan drew her own pistol out; she had been forced to use it much more frequently than she ordinarily did since she had entered Boston. The tall buildings and winding alleys didn’t allow for the gloriously long lines of sight she was used to back west. With a small smile she thought back to Zion; it seemed Joshua had been right after all.

        “Do any of you know where the Deep Range Transmitter might be?” she asked the group. They stared at her with their eerie blank yellow eyes set into their skeletal faces. When I take over this place, she thought, I’m making sure these damn things all at least have skin. She adored robots, especially her Securitrons, and any Eyebot was a welcome friend as far as she was concerned, but the creepy humanoid machines the Institute utilized unnerved her. Their third generation Synths even more so; she didn’t like anything that was that good at pretending to be something it wasn’t.

        “No, Miss,” one of them called out to her in its metallic voice. Joan bit the inside of her cheek. Should at least be easier than finding a Platinum Chip in the ruins of a haystack, she thought wryly.

        “Alright, let’s divide and conquer. Half of you stay down here with me and X6-88, the rest of you check out the rocket—if it’s going to be anywhere, that’s mostly likely it. Maintain the search until I call for you, even if you hear gunfire. It’s imperative that we find the Transmitter.” She motioned to the rocket and the group split evenly to follow her directions.

        Joan and the group of Synths that had remained on the ground floor had been slowly dismantling clutter inside the silo for a while when a burst of laser weapon fire erupted far above them. They all paused, looking up into the darkness. Joan strained her ears; she could just make out heavy metal footsteps pounding against concrete. Another burst of laser fire cut the air, closer this time.

        “That sounds like the Brotherhood of Steel, Ma’am,” X6-88 stated, drawing his laser rifle out and staring up into the darkness.

        “Okay, get into positions everyone,” she said, dashing away from the group into the shadows. The darkness had been a hindrance while searching for the Deep Range Transmitter but she had quickly spotted an opportunity to finally use her trusty sniper rifle. She waved at the Synths to scatter to the shadows while she positioned herself; she crouched low on the dusty floor and swept her rifle off her back in a clean arc before bringing the scope to her eye. It felt good to use her preferred firearm for a change. X6-88 and the Synths obeyed her, withdrawing into the darkness to wait, as she had instructed them to do while they had been searching.

        A small elevator dinged to life well above them and Joan quickly trained her rifle on the entrance.

        Two Paladins and a Scribe emerged from the elevator, weapons brandished and ready. They leaned over the railing in front of it, scanning the darkness below.

        “It’s dark,” one of them commented, her voice muffled by her power armor. Joan took a deep breath as she watched them. The Scribe sighed.

        “You have flashlights on those helmets for a reason,” he replied, irritated. Joan steadied her hands, capturing her target in her sights.

        “Just shut up you two, we need to get the Transmitter and get back to the Prydwen,” the third snapped back. Joan lined up her shot; it was unlikely that her bullets would be able to drop a fully clad member of the Brotherhood in a single shot, but—she smiled, squeezing the trigger.

        “Wha—SHIT!” The Scribe collapsed, his lifeless body crumpling against the worn and rusted railing. A loud crack rent the air as the railing gave way under his weight and his body pitched forward, tumbling into the darkness before hitting the ground level with a dull thud. The two Paladins scrambled apart from each other. Joan mentally pumped her fist into the air and quickly lined up another shot—this time aiming for the stairwell that one of the Paladins was dashing down, the metal stairs shaking dangerously with the weight of her power armor. She squeezed off another shot; it struck the Paladin in the chest before ricocheting off into the darkness. The Paladin tore down the stairs faster, sweeping the muzzle of her laser rifle into the room beneath her and firing blindly.

        “God dammit!” the other one shouted. This one seemed to be the bravest of the bunch—they had vaulted the railing, landing with a resounding boom onto the ground floor, close to their dead Scribe friend. This was exactly what Joan had wanted.

        “Go go go!” she shouted. Immediately X6-88 and the Synths leaped from the darkness, directing all their firepower at the Paladin that stood alone in the center of the silo. Joan could hear screams through the zaps of laser gunfire. She tuned it out—killing was a necessity, but she had no stomach for suffering. Instead she focused on setting up another shot, aiming at the legs of the Paladin running down the rickety stairs. The Paladin panicked at the shot and danced in place, uncertain of where to go. It was an unfortunate choice; the stairs wobbled treacherously before separating from the wall, cracking and giving way as the Paladin crashed to the ground level, landing face down. Her friend, the brave one, had finally cashed out to Joan’s relief; there was no more screaming.

        “Get her gun and her Fusion Core!” Joan shouted as she sprang up from her crouch, directing the group of Synths to the fallen Paladin. They dashed ahead obediently, jumping on the Paladin as she was struggling to pull herself to her feet in her heavy armor. Within moments they had disarmed her and yanked out the Core of her power armor. The suit groaned and its lights flickered on and off before dimming. The Paladin was stuck in an awkward kneel, forced motionless without her Fusion Core to power her.

        “Take off her helmet,” Joan instructed, sprinting over to the group. They obeyed, prying it off the Paladin’s head after a moment of struggle; she cried out as they tossed it aside and she looked wildly around, blinking in the darkness. Joan parted the group of Synths and stepped in front of the woman.

        “Are there any more of you up there?” she demanded. The Paladin jerked her head up to look at her. A trace of guilt bit at Joan as she saw the naked terror in the Paladin’s eyes; she repressed it.

        “N-no!” she cried. “It was supposed to—oh God, I can’t believe they’re _dead_ , I mean—” the Paladin devolved into babbling, quickly becoming incoherent. Joan sighed and withdrew the pistol Joshua Graham had gifted her, pointing it at the Paladin. The woman shrieked.

        “Just give me the facts. _Now_ ,” Joan prompted with emphasis.

        “It’s just us, I promise! It was supposed to be an easy mission. Elder Maxson told us we had to retrieve a—a transmitter, I don’t know exactly what it is, that’s what Scribe Ethan was here for,” she said jerkily. She tossed her head, looking around as far as the suit of armor would permit her. Joan lowered her pistol and looked down at the woman. She was satisfied that further reinforcements weren’t coming, at least not soon, but she was now left with the dilemma of what to do with the Paladin. The woman was still kneeling, looking up at Joan; her eyes were frantic.

        “We’re waiting for your direction, Ma’am.” X6-88 said. Joan bit her lip. She didn’t have anything against this woman, but undeniably the logical course of action was to put her down. The woman panicked, realizing that Joan was weighing her fate.

        “Please, _please_ just let me go,” she begged, her voice tremulous. “I’ll leave, I don’t care what you want, take the transmitter or whatever. Just please let me go.”

        An idea seized Joan.

        “Do you have a radio?”

        The Paladin blinked up at her.

        “O-of course. We all do,” she said, confused.

        “Where is it?” Joan asked.

        “It’s… it’s on my left hip.”

        Joan leaned forward, shining her Pipboy flashlight at the woman’s power armor before finally spotting it—she pried it off her hip with a small snap.

        “It’s tuned to your chain of command, right?” Joan asked. The Paladin nodded, her confusion shifting to worry. Joan leaned down, bringing her face to the Paladin’s level.

        “I’ll tell you what we’re going to do. I’m going to turn on your radio, and you’re going to tell them that your team couldn’t find the Deep Range Transmitter. That you conducted a very thorough search of the building, but it’s not here. You can do that, right?”

        The woman swallowed and nodded.

        “Good.” Joan raised her pistol again, pressing it against the Paladin’s temple; the woman shivered and blinked rapidly.

        “Will you let me go?” she asked. Joan nodded at her.

        “Don’t do anything stupid. Just do exactly as I told you,” Joan commanded her. She switched the radio on and held it to the Paladin’s face.

        “P-Paladin Diaz, reporting in,” she said. Joan narrowed her eyes at her and the Paladin swallowed again.

        “Copy, Paladin Diaz. What’s your status?” a male voice replied over the radio.

        “I’m reporting in for Recon Squad Levus. We—we haven’t had any luck. The Deep Range Transmitter isn’t here.” She bit her lip and tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes. Joan nudged her temple with her pistol.

        “Damn—are you sure?” The voice sounded frustrated. The Paladin nodded as though he could see her.

        “I’m sorry, Sir. We’ve gone over the building with a fine tooth comb. If it was here once, it’s long since b-been stolen or destroyed. There’s nothing here but rubble and a—” she glanced up, “—a broken rocket of some kind. None of it is salvageable. I wish I had better news, Sir,” she said, her voice only wavering a small amount.

        The voice on the radio sighed before replying.

        “Don’t sweat it, Paladin Diaz. We knew it was a long shot. Shall we dispatch a Vertibird to collect you?”

        The Paladin faltered, unsure of how to respond. Joan rapidly shook her head, shoving the tip of her gun harder against her temple.

        “N-No Sir. We, we um… We were going to scope out some of the nearby area. There’s a—um… what looks like a water treatment plant, it’s close by here. We wanted to check it out before heading back to the Prydwen. Is that acceptable?” she said quickly. Joan nodded at her reassuringly and the voice over the radio chuckled.

        “Sure thing, Diaz. Don’t work too hard out there. Over.” The buzz of the radio sizzled and faded. Joan clicked it off. Paladin Diaz’s head drooped forward and she exhaled shakily.

        “Well done,” Joan congratulated her as she pulled the trigger. The Synths watched impassively as Paladin Diaz jerked and slumped to the side in her suit of power armor, blood splattering the wall beside her. Joan turned away and tugged a small white cloth from inside her suit, wiping flecks of blood from her pistol.

        “Can any of you confirm if that plant is nearby?” she asked.

        “Affirmative, Miss. It is occupied by Super Mutants.”

        “Really? Isn’t that lucky. Can you Relay there with the bodies and get back out?”

        “Yes, Miss.”

        Joan cleared her throat.

        “It’s Ma’am, actually,” she corrected. The Synth apologized and set off. They worked together, antlike in efficiency, gathering the three corpses together in a pile. As they worked, the group that had been assigned to the rocket spilled out of it, landing lightly on the ground nearby. One of the Synths approached her, holding a bulky metal box in its hands.

        “Good news, Miss, we have located the Deep Range Transmitter. It appears to be in functioning order,” it said, handing the Transmitter to Joan.

        “Excellent, very well done,” she said brightly. She tucked the Transmitter under her arm. That worked out rather nicely, she thought. It had been a stroke of fortune that the Paladin had unwittingly provided the perfect solution to her problem. X6-88 approached her; though still stoic, she swore she could detect a faint hint of admiration on his face.

        “I’ll admit, you exceeded all expectations, Ma’am,” he said. Joan tucked her pistol back into its holster and grinned.

        “Thank you. I’ve got the Deep Range Trasmitter, should we head out now?” she asked.

        “Yes Ma’am. I was instructed to Relay you back to the Institute when we were finished,” he replied. A jolt of electricity tore the air behind them as the others Relayed to the water treatment plant with the bodies of the Brotherhood soldiers in tow. X6-88 took his place beside her with precision and Joan squeezed her eyes shut, bracing against the harsh blue light that swallowed them.

***

        Shaun was practically beaming at her. He was seated at his pristine white desk; a copy of Publick Occurrences lay on the desk next to a small television that was fuzzy with static.

        “I monitored your progress via a few of the Synths that had been dispatched with you. You did very well—far better than I had anticipated, if I may say so,” Shaun said. His tone was rich and warm. Joan couldn’t resist smiling back at him. “You handled the Brotherhood exceptionally well—that was ingenious really, convincing them that the Deep Range Transmitter was gone. As I’m sure you’ve figured out, they pose the greatest threat to us from within the Commonwealth. For now at least, we do not have to worry about them.”

        “Thank you, Father,” she replied. It had hardly been her first time tangling with the Brotherhood of Steel; from Shaun’s words she doubted it would be her last. “So? Did I pass your test?” Her grin turned cocky.

        “With flying colors. You’ve done so well that I already have another job lined up for you, if you’re up for it. There’s not quite so much rush this time, however. Feel free to take the night to rest. Why don’t you report to me in the morning and we can discuss your next move?” Shaun stopped a moment to shuffle a few papers on his desk.

        “It also looks like you worked remarkably well with X6-88. The two of you could form quite the imposing team on the surface—for your future missions, I’d like the two of you to continue working together. Is that satisfactory?” he asked.

        “Certainly. I’d prefer not to travel alone, thank you,” Joan replied before bidding Shaun goodnight and making her way to her personal quarters.

        She slept well that night, better than she had since she had first entered the Institute.


	10. Willow Tree

Chapter 10: Willow Tree

_Seasons will come but it's our time to go—nothing to learn but it's our time to know. We're falling, falling from the willow tree_

April 2288

        The doors of the Synth Retention Bureau slid open and Joan and X6-88 strode inside. A few scientists waved at her before returning to work. Justin Ayo quickly approached her.

        “I heard you wanted to se—” Joan began before Justin cut her off.

        “We've got a problem here and to be honest, Father's never taken it as seriously as he should have. I'm hoping _you_ will,” he said, ignoring her narrowed eyes.

        “I’ll do what I can,” Joan replied, reining in her irritation. She had found Justin Ayo to be brusquely annoying; he always seemed to think his problems were bigger than everyone else’s. It didn’t help that she and X6-88 had to work with him frequently, as tracking down escaped Synths had become a large part of her life during the past several months.

        “Good,” he replied smugly. “That’s exactly what I wanted to hear. I’m glad _someone_ is finally taking me seriously.”

        “Get on with it, if it’s that important,” Joan snapped.

        Justin pressed his lips together before apparently deciding this battle wasn’t worth pursuing.

        “We often send Synth scavenger teams to the surface. Occasionally, one of the Synths will try to escape—the rate of escapes has been increasing lately, and I don't think it's just random chance.” He had leaned down to Joan, speaking quickly and quietly. It was Joan’s turn to press her lips together.

        “Mmn, that is a problem. So you think someone’s helping them out. The Railroad?” she asked.

        “I don’t think so,” he said, leaning even closer to her. “I think it’s someone from within the Institute.”

        Joan took a step back from him, her expression growing dark.

        “That’s quite the accusation. Do you have anything to back that up?” she asked. X6-88 nodded at her with approval.

        “I’m not throwing out blind accusations here,” Justin replied heatedly. “I’ve been digging into this myself before dragging you into it. I have very good reason to think it’s Alan Binet, from Robotics. Someone has been changing my work crew assignments, replacing Synths I approved for surface duty with high flight risks. It’s got to be Alan Binet. He thinks Synths are people. He even _lives_ with one. It’s highly disturbing,” he continued with disgust. Joan wrinkled her nose; despite her low regard for Justin Ayo, she had to agree that the notion of a man and Synth woman living together was distasteful and immoral.

        “I see. I’ll look into it,” she said. Justin’s face darkened.

        “Father has been brushing this under the rug for too long! I don’t want to hear that you’ll look into it. I want answers _today_.”

        The two stared hard at each other and Joan pressed her hands defiantly to her hips. Though she got along very well with Shaun, it stung her pride to be at the bottom of the totem pole of the Institute. I am no one’s Yes Woman, she thought furiously. The thought tugged her mind back to the holotape in her suit jacket and she exhaled steadily, breaking eye contact with Justin. Yes Man’s advice had rarely led her astray. She forced her shoulders to relax.

        “I’m sorry. You’re right—this is a serious problem,” she relented. The past months had been better than she would have expected, pleasant even at times, but moments like this made her tired again. New Vegas was beginning to feel like a distant memory, another life, like the one she had had before Benny shot her in the head.

        “Good. I expect to hear back from you before the day is over,” Justin replied, smug once again.

        “You know I don’t have any direct authority to do anything about this, even if I do find evidence that Alan Binet’s involved, right?” she told him. Justin faltered and she was satisfied to see the smirk slide off his face. She thought she even spied the corners of X6-88’s lips turn up. Justin’s expression turned thunderous, and she saw envy bloom beneath the surface of his sneer, like poison ivy creeping up a wall.

        “We all know you’re Father’s new _pet_. I’m sure he’ll listen to you. _Here_ ,” he barked, throwing a key at her. X6-88 darted forward, catching it before it struck Joan in the chest. She glared up at Justin, planning grim retribution in her mind for when she eventually found a way to take over the Institute. Playing errand girl was wearing quite thin; she wondered whether or not she ought to just try a forceful coup after all.

        “This is the key to the Binet living quarters. Get—just get out of here. I’ll be waiting on your report,” Justin finished, turning away from Joan and marching into the lower level of the SRB.

        “He’ll regret that,” X6-88 said evenly as they exited the Bureau. Joan tucked the key into her pocket, quietly seething. “Father really is very fond of you. If he kne—”

        “Don’t tell him anything. I’m no fucking snitch,” Joan replied darkly.

        “Of course not, Ma’am. I just wanted to observe that Justin Ayo was right, even if he phrased it rudely. Father has spoken to me about you on more than one occasion.”

        Joan looked up at him, her anger melting away, replaced with curiosity.

        “What has he said?” she asked.

        X6-88 looked away from her, out over the staggered levels of the heart of the Institute.

        “Father preferred that I don’t tell you,” he said. Of course, Joan thought with frustration. The two began climbing the stairs that would deliver them to the level that contained residential lodging. In the silence, her mind lingered on the Mojave once again. For her sanity she usually pushed thoughts of home from her mind, lest she grow physically ill with homesickness, the faces of her friends growing dim in her mind. New England was so far removed from anything even remotely resembling her life in the Mojave that even the Legion seemed to be of little concern here. Her stomach dropped as she realized even her thoughts of Zion and Joshua Graham were growing thinner and thinner with each passing day. She stroked the scarred length of her forefinger.

         “Are you alright, Ma’am?” X6-88 asked her. They were standing outside Alan Binet’s living quarters. Joan snapped from her reverie.

        “Yes. I’m fine,” she replied. X6-88 was looking down at her hip—she snatched her hand away from her pistol, flushing a deep pink.

        “I think it would be best if we tried to resolve this peacefully, if possible,” he said.

        “No no, I agree. Sorry, I was lost in thought,” Joan babbled, withdrawing the key from her pocket and twisting it in the lock, opening the door.

        “What on earth—” a dark haired woman began, pulling herself up from a couch. Across the room from her was a young man. They stared at Joan and X6-88 as they entered the apartment.

        “O-oh, it’s _you_ ,” the young man said. He appeared nervous, stepping protectively in front of the woman. She placed her hand on his shoulder and the two watched Joan and X6-88 with stony expressions.

        “Relax,” Joan said, sweeping her hands out. “Are you Liam? I’m just here to look into an issue. Is your father around?”

        “Hey, I know what this is,” Liam began, speaking quickly. “Listen, I know what Justin Ayo believes, but he's wrong. My dad's not helping Synths get away. I don’t know who started spreading tha—” Joan cut him off.

        “That’s up to the Directorate to decide,” she replied coolly. X6-88 nodded. “If he’s innocent, he’ll have nothing to worry about.”

        “If, _if_ he’s innocent, God you’re acting like the Synths are more important than the people who live and work here! What’s the big deal if a few go free anyway? There’s more than enough here, you can see them with your own two eyes,” Liam threw back at her as he stood resolute, his thick brows knitted together.

        “The Synths are Institute property. It’s not a matter of how many we have, it’s a matter of doing what’s right. They’re an incredibly valuable resource,” Joan replied evenly. Liam shot her a disgusted look.

        “They’re _property_ to you?” he said, his voice growing shrill. The woman behind him stepped in front of him.

        “Liam, why don’t you go find your father,” she said, meeting Joan’s eyes. Liam looked at her before huffing and exiting the room, giving Joan and X6-88 a wide berth as he quickly passed by them.

        “And you… Eve, right?” Joan pulled out the small black notebook she had started keeping from inside her suit jacket. Within it was a list of names of the members of the Institute, with a short note detailing their job, designation and function. She flipped to the section that Alan Binet and his family were listed under and wrinkled her nose. Eve was the personal Synth of Alan Binet. There were plenty of human women within the Institute; Joan found it extremely distasteful that he would have turned one of the Synths into a vulgar parody of housewife. As if this manufactured woman could even consent to this—she thought it was no better than how the Legion would assign wives to their highest ranking members. She mentally tucked away a note to herself to have a discussion about the ethics of this with Shaun later, and to try to discourage him from allowing this type of experimentation in the future. She snapped the book shut and slipped it back inside her suit.

        “Yes. I’m… Well, I can never _replace_ Alan’s wife, or be a real mother to Liam, but I at least help out with the domestic duties. Is there anything I can do to assist you?” Eve replied, holding her hand out to Joan. Joan eyed it for a moment before shaking it. In her mind she knew that these weren’t real people; it disconcerted her when they acted like they were.

        “I’m running a simple investigation about your… _husband_. Does he have a personal terminal here?” she asked. Eve shook her head.

        “No, I’m afraid not. You’ll have to…” she trailed off, staring blankly at Joan. Joan arched her eyebrow and wondered if she was malfunctioning.

        “I’ll be right back, if you don’t mind,” Eve said after a delay. She walked quickly away into the next room. X6-88 and Joan stood side by side.

        “She’s acting unusual, Ma’am. You should keep your gua—” X6-88 abruptly stopped speaking. Eve had returned and she had a laser pistol drawn and pointed directly at Joan. Joan immediately raised her hands.

        “Don’t even think about it,” Eve said nervously, the tip of her gun jumping between Joan and X6-88, whose hand was halfway inside his large black coat.

        “Eve,” Joan spoke slowly and steadily. “What’s the meaning of this?” She swallowed, willing her heartbeat to remain steady. Eve looked nervous and skittish; Joan prayed that if she didn’t show any outward sign of distress that the other woman would remain calm as well.

        “I can't let you tell Doctor Ayo that Liam is responsible for the Synth escapes. Please forgive me,” Eve replied quickly.

        Joan’s eyebrows shot up in surprise.

        “ _Liam_?”

        Eve squeezed her eyes closed for a moment and cursed before steadying herself.

        “… You would have found out anyway. That’s all you do isn’t it? Father has you running all over the surface, hunting down escaped Synths, or working with the Synths that have replaced people… It’s pointless.”Her voice hitched as she spoke and she looked to be on the verge of tears. Joan pressed her lips together before speaking again, working to keep her tone neutral.

        “You’re right, I would have. So why are you doing this? Why are you protecting him?” she asked. Fear bled into confusion. Surely this woman couldn’t enjoy—if Synths enjoyed anything—being Alan and Liam’s chambermaid and servant. She was hardly better than a slave to them.

        “I know Liam isn't really my son… But I've come to love him as if he were. He's so smart and so kind-hearted. All he wants is for Synths to have a better life, to be free,” Eve replied, sounding wistful and forlorn. Joan studied her face carefully, feeling strangely cold.

        “You love him?” she asked slowly, almost reverently.

        “Of course I do. He and Alan are my everything,” Eve continued as tears began to rain down her cheeks. “I love them, I would do anything for them. Even…” She pointed the gun directly at Joan’s forehead once again. “I’ll do whatever it takes for them to remain safe. I’m sorry. I hope you understand.”

        It was as if time slowed down around Joan. Eve twisted her face away, the corners of her lips harshly downturned. X6-88 continued plunging his hand into his coat as Eve fired the gun, unable to watch what she was doing. As fast as a snake, Joan ducked, snatching her .45 from her hip and drawing it up, shoulders relaxed, feet planted firm. Two shots landed neatly: both struck Eve in the center of her chest, within inches of each other. She fell to the floor.

        “Ma’am, are you alright?” X6-88 seized her shoulder, inspecting her; he sounded uncharacteristically affected. Joan stared transfixed at the pool of blood expanding from underneath Eve’s torso. Joshua Graham’s gun felt heavy in her hand.

        Eve had loved them?

        “It does not appear that you were struck. Are you in shock, Ma’am?” X6-88 stared down at her, his eyebrows creased together just over the rim of his sunglasses. Joan finally wrenched her eyes away from Eve’s body.

        “I…” Her eyes landed on the gun in her hand before darting back up to X6-88’s face.

        “I did what I had to do,” she said, slamming the door on the emotion that bubbled within her. She tucked the gun back into its holster, the racket of emotions within her silenced with cool numbness.

        “Of course, Ma’am. No one would fault you for defending yourself. You handled that as well as you could have. Let’s report this to Father,” X6-88 replied.

***

        A short while later the two were standing at the door of Shaun’s office. During the course of their walk X6-88 had instructed a passing Gen 2 Synth to go and clean the Binet living quarters.

        “May I come in?” Joan asked, knocking lightly on his door before entering. Shaun glanced up at her. He looked tired, as he often did during the past few months.

        “Yes, Joan, what can I do for you?”

        “Justin Ayo assigned me to look into the matter of the increased number of Synths that have gone missing,” she said, taking a seat opposite Shaun. X6-88 remained standing behind her. Shaun’s face grew even longer.

        “That. He’s been pestering me—and anyone else who will listen—about that for some time now. I hope he wasn’t out of line about it,” he said.

        “He was right about it, actually,” she replied. Shaun’s eyebrows shot up.

        “He suspected Alan Binet of sending high risk Synths to the surface for expeditions. It was actually his son, Liam, and they were being aided by Alan’s personal Synth, Eve. When she learned that we were investigating him, she drew a weapon and tried to attack me,” she continued.

        “My God, are you alright?” Shaun quickly stood from his desk and circled it to inspect Joan, his hands fluttering around her shoulders. She looked away, flustered with the attention.

        “I’m fine. But I had to defend myself. Eve is… gone. I can provide a full report of the incident,” she finished. The worn expression settled on Shaun’s face again and he resumed his seat at his desk.

        “…I see. So Ayo was correct,” he murmured distractedly, running a hand through his white hair. “I really have been slipping in my duties.”

        Joan shot up in her chair.

        “Sha—Father, no. Justin Ayo goes on about every problem as if it’s the end of the world. You couldn’t have known. That’s what he gets for crying wolf,” she said bitterly. It stabbed at her to see Shaun looking so fatigued; she gritted her teeth at the mental image of Justin Ayo looking at Shaun with that stupid smug expression of his the next time they met. She clenched her hands in her lap.

        “No, Joan. He is right. And this is… well. I suppose there’s no better time to tell you this,” Shaun began. Joan felt a terrible prickling in her stomach and her fingertips grew icy.

        “Told me what? What’s wrong?”

        “Forgive me… this is difficult for me to say,” he replied haltingly. Joan’s nerves flared into a full blown panic; she started spinning the buttons on her cuffs with agitation.

        “Don’t drag it out, just tell me,” she said shrilly.

        “I’m sorry to say this, but I… I am dying,” Shaun said after a moment. His worn expression settled into a melancholy sort of acceptance. Joan’s fingers immediately stilled as though blocks of ice had consumed them.

        “ _What_?” she whispered, her eyes wide.

        Shaun gave her a small rueful smile and the door of emotion within her smashed open again, against her will.

        “I’ve been under Doctor Volkert’s care for some time now, Joan, since even before you arrived. Our best efforts have failed. Every experimental treatment we could devise has been… unsuccessful,” he continued. Joan blinked her eyes rapidly, trying to dam the flood of unexpected tears that threatened to break free.

        “But—but this is the Institute… That can’t be, there has to be something you can do,” she rambled stiffly. In some higher minded, coldly logical part of her brain she felt like she should be ecstatic. That this was the very opportunity she had been waiting for since she first set foot in the Molecular Relay. That a change in leadership would be the ideal setting for staging a takeover. In this moment none of that mattered to her.

        Shaun laced his hands in front of him on the desk, still smiling that sad smile.

        “I know. I can admit… it feels unfair. Even for all our great achievements—and they are numerous—well… Cancer is a tricky disease to battle. As soon as you think you’ve eradicated one tumor, two or more seem to sprout in its place.” He sighed.

        “We’ve even tried radiation therapy. It’s funny isn’t it? The greatest threat on the surface world, being used to save a life.” Shaun pressed his lips together. Joan mashed her fist against her mouth, swallowing hard. “Except it wasn’t enough, obviously. But I digress—I am telling you all of this for a reason, Joan.”

        She didn’t trust herself to speak.

        “You have been invaluable to the Institute since you’ve been here. I almost can’t even comprehend how we managed before you arrived. Thanks to you we’ve retrieved the Deep Range Transmitter, numerous escaped Synths, our work with Warwick Farmstead has flourished, and that’s to say nothing of your fine work with Allie Filmore at the Mass Fusion facility. You’ve fearlessly tackled the Brotherhood of Steel head on for us, and it’s thanks to you that we retrieved the Beryllium Agitator. You even managed to bring Allie back safely in one piece.”

        Joan looked away, flushing red.

        “You’ve displayed a real… capacity for leadership,” Shaun continued sagely. Joan jerked her head back to him, her eyes wide.

        “You can’t—”

        “I would like to name you as my successor,” he interrupted her. Joan found herself reeling, unable to speak.

        “My ability to lead has been compromised by this damned cancer,” he continued. “I have seen the way that you handle problems and solutions, time and again. I know our time together has been brief, but I feel that you’re up to the task of leading the Institute. We have… been closed to the surface world for far too long. I fear that without fresh eyes, an external perspective, we will fall further and further out of touch. Will you accept my proposal, Joan? Will you become Director of the Institute?”

        Joan swallowed hard. The holotape against her chest seemed to hum.

        “Yes,” she replied, with no further hesitation.

        Shaun brightened considerably.

“I am glad to hear that, Joan.” He unlaced his hands and leaned back in his chair, the smile on his face warm and content.

        “To think, that the only reason you are here is because of my mother. I am not… a particularly religious man, but it must surely be an act of fate that you arrived just in time to help her program the Relay,” he said. Shaun had not mentioned his mother since the day she had left the Institute.

        “I’m… I’m sorry about what happened with her,” Joan said, casting her eyes down.

        “She made her choice,” he replied evenly. Joan snapped her head back up to look at him, feeling strangely for a moment as if she were experiencing déjà vu.

        “About my mother,” he began. “I should warn you about her. I’ve continued to monitor her presence in the Commonwealth. You have come across the Minutemen during your time on the surface; she is their leader now. As you have been a boon to us, so has she to them. They have grown into a strong presence above—one that you should not underestimate.”

        Joan nodded at him, swallowing again.

        “There is one other thing about her, something that very few people here in the Institute are aware of, and that she herself does not know,” he continued. “My mother is a Synth.”

        Joan gasped.

        “But, how—”

        Shaun held up a wrinkled and spotted hand to stop her.

        “As you know, I was taken as an infant by the Institute. A year ago I was diagnosed with cancer. Knowing that my time was short, I decided I wanted to finally meet the woman who had created me. I dispatched a team of scientists to bring her out of the cryogenic Vault facility. She was…” he trailed off, sighing deeply.

        “I don’t know what I expected. Before the War she had been a lawyer and homemaker. I’m not sure what I thought, bringing her into this terrifying new world. She couldn’t take it. She became hysterical, even here in the Institute. It was just too much for her to bear. I knew she wouldn’t last long, so I had her questioned, as much as she could handle. She passed soon afterward.”

        Joan inhaled sharply. She wanted to ask what had happened to her, but resisted the temptation.

        “I felt… shortchanged. So I had her created anew, in exacting detail, as a prototype. I wanted to give her the best chance of survival that she could have in this world; she has more in common with a Courser than she does any of the other Synths, although she is totally unique even among them. She is stronger and faster than almost any human. Her skeleton and flesh are fortified and strengthened. She may bleed like a human, but if she were to be cut open, she would resemble something like a second generation Synth inside. She does not require food, although we gave her the capability of consuming it. Nutritionally it does nothing for her—her energy requirements are derived from a series of miniscule self charging fusion batteries within her, specially created for her,” he continued with restrained pride. Joan watched him in awe.

        “She is the greatest and finest Synth that I have ever created.” His tone had shifted and he grew weary and forlorn again.

        “I’m sorry,” Joan said. “The day she… left. I can’t imagine how hard that must have been for you.”

        “Thank you. It was… unnerving to say the least, that my creation very nearly undid me. But she served a valuable reminder to me. She is not a human, and she is not my mother. The real June Rockwell died more than a year ago.” He folded his hands again, leaning forward.

        “I trust that this information will not leave this room. Though she is a Synth, I do not want her to be reclaimed. I made my own choice when I gave her the new life that she has. It is up to her what she makes of it. She may not be my real mother, but I cannot watch her die a second time.”

        “Of course, anything you tell me is strictly confidential, Father,” Joan replied quickly.

        “Please… I know that you have always thought of me as Shaun. Feel free to call me what you like,” he said, giving her a smile. Joan extended her hand and cupped it over Shaun’s, giving him a small squeeze before hastily withdrawing it.

        “I appreciate that, but I think you’ve earned your title,” she said, smiling back at him. Her moment of joy dimmed at his next words.

        “Well… now that I know you’re on board, we should have a talk with the Directorate,” Shaun said, pushing himself away from his desk and standing, beckoning Joan and X6-88 to follow him.

        Oh dear, thought Joan. Here we go.


	11. Kicks

Chapter 11: Kicks

_Oh come with me, I'll show you how to live for free—nobody got a thing on me_

        “What the—she’s not even a damned scientist!” Justin Ayo had upset his chair scrambling out of it and looked dangerously close to picking it up and hurling it at Joan, who sat and watched him impassively as she sipped from a glass of water. Internally she was delighted to see Justin Ayo beet red and heaving with fury.

        “ _Doctor Ayo_!” Shaun narrowed his eyes. “Calm yourself this instant.”

        “No! How can you possibly justify this? She isn’t one of us—she’s barely been here for six months!” Justin shouted, redirecting his fury at Shaun.

        “Ignoring your insubordinate tone, I have only this to say: the Institute has enough scientists, enough researchers. What the Institute needs right now is a _leader_. Joan has proven herself to be more than capable in this regard,” Shaun replied, his tan fingers steepled across his chest.

        Justin swelled thunderously and was on the verge of saying something else when Shaun cut him off.

        “Do not force me to have you escorted to your quarters, Doctor Ayo.” Shaun looked pointedly at X6-88, who in turn twisted to face Justin. X6-88’s expression did not shift, but it was enough to cause Justin to falter. He picked up his chair and set it upright again, plopping down into it and huffing with his arms crossed.

        “Are you certain about this?” Madison Li spoke up. She sat nearly as serenely as Joan, though her brows were creased into a thin line across her forehead. Clayton Holdren nodded beside her.

        “Yes, Doctor Li, I am certain. Someone needs to take the mantle when I pass. I have made my choice,” Shaun responded, turning to face her.

        Madison frowned, but provided no further dissent. Allie Filmore was the only one who offered no objections. Joan glanced at her and she returned a sad half smile. The two had bonded during Joan’s stay in the Institute, and Joan had been pleasantly surprised to find that Allie was much more capable and driven than most of her fellow scientists. The two had taken on the Brotherhood of Steel together at the Mass Fusion building when they had worked to retrieve the Beryllium Agitator. Privately Joan thought that Allie might have what it would take to survive above ground, legitimately impressed with her fortitude and mental agility.

        “If there are no more objections,” Shaun paused and looked around sternly—the room was silent. “Then I am tired. Joan, come to my office in the morning. I have an important job for you, but we will discuss it then. Good night.”

        Shaun stood and swept out of the conference room; as soon as he was gone the room erupted again.

        “You!” Justin Ayo shot up from his chair and thrust his forefinger into Joan’s face. She stared down her nose at it before flicking her eyes up to meet his.

        “Justin!” Allie Filmore stood as well, her hands firmly on her hips, glaring at him. “Father has made his choice. He’s led the Institute for the past thirty years, are you really going to question his judgment? I’ve worked with Joan—I’ve seen what she’s made of. I think Father is making the right choice.”

        “I think he’s potentially making an enormous mistake,” Madison Li said quietly. “But all we can do is wait it out and see.” She directed her eyes to Joan, who had sat silently during the entire meeting.

        “Nothing to say?” she asked snidely. Joan took another sip of water; she felt more in her element than she had in some time.

        “No, I don’t have anything to say. Father has made his choice and made it known. I am not the Director yet—if you have any complaints, you’re free to take them up with him. All I can do is promise to do my best,” she replied. She stood from her chair and Justin slammed his hands on the table, his face turning a deep puce.

        “That’s all you have to say! What have you done, you’ve walked in here, you act like you own the goddamn place, and—and,” Justin hesitated before verbally charging forward.

        “I’ve seen the way you two act around each other! I think I have a pretty damn good guess at how you’ve _earned_ this position! On your _back_ , you whor—”

        Joan seized her glass of water from the table and threw the contents of it in Justin’s face before hurling the glass to the ground where it shattered, sending shards of glass scattering out across the entire conference room. He recoiled, sputtering and wiping his face and X6-88 darted forward, seizing Justin’s arm in a vice-like grip.

        “Justin!” Allie and Madison shrieked in mutual disgust. Clayton sat nervously, his eyes bouncing between the door and windows as if debating the faster exit of the two. X6-88 began to haul Justin away from the conference room when Joan stopped him. He halted obligingly. Joan strode up to Justin Ayo, looking squarely up at his face, her fingernails digging into the meat of her palms as she clenched her hands into white knuckled fists at her sides.

        “How _dare_ you,” she hissed. Justin glared down at her, his face still dripping. “How _fucking_ dare you insinuate that I’ve ever taken the easy road on achieving anything I’ve done! You have no goddamn idea what I’m capable of!” Joan fought against revealing what exactly she was capable of accomplishing and struggled to quell her rage, the tips of her teeth digging painfully into her tongue.

        “Not even to mention what you’ve just implied about Father,” she continued after a moment, squinting angrily at Justin. He looked nervous now. “You really think he’d risk his life’s work, the Institute, _everything_ , for something so meaningless?”

        “I— _no_ , of course not,” Justin sputtered, trying and failing to tug his arm away from X6-88, who held him firmly.

        “What do you want me to do with him, Ma’am?” X6-88 asked her. Justin stared at her, his eyes wide. Joan’s truest impulse was to banish him to the surface with nothing but the clothes on his back and a kick in the ass on the way out, but instead she cast her mind back to her early days, when she had freshly seized House’s position of power on the Strip—it was better to keep everything running smoothly, for now at least.

        “Let him go,” she said. One of X6-88’s eyebrows rose above the rim of his sunglasses, but he complied, his fingers snapping back from Justin’s arm. Justin rubbed his bicep furiously, looking down at Joan as though he wasn’t sure what to make of her.

        “I won’t bother Father with this,” she said, straightening her tie before looking at Justin again. “You have a valuable role here in the Institute—I’m willing to let this go because we need to keep everything running smoothly.”

        Justin watched her, his expression wary. Allie, Madison and Clayton visibly relaxed.

        “Now, more than ever, we need to stay strong. Do you agree?” Joan asked, keeping her eyes steadily on Justin’s. He wavered before accepting.

        “Yes… that’s… I’m sorry. That was uncalled for,” he said, casting his eyes down, finally looking abashed. Joan thrust her hand out. Justin accepted it and they shook hands.

        “I’m serious about wanting to do my best,” Joan said to the entire room. They all looked at her. “Justin is right; I am new. But the Institute’s goals are my own goals. I want to see mankind develop and flourish. With your help, I believe I can make that dream a reality.” It was close enough to the truth, Joan thought—she just believed the Followers of the Apocalypse were better suited to making that reality actually come to pass.

        Madison looked impressed. Allie and Clayton smiled and even Justin appeared to be mollified. Joan turned and exited the conference room with X6-88 closely following her, shutting the door quietly behind them.

        “I knew I made the right decision.”

        Joan ran face first into Shaun, who was standing just beyond the door, out of sight. She jumped backward from him and he chuckled.

        “I—I didn’t know you heard all of that,” she said, her face turning bright red.

        “I did. Even what Doctor Ayo… implied,” he said, distaste washing over his face. “But that’s not important. What is important is the display of restraint and leadership you exhibited in there. You have done very well, Joan, and I fully believe you’ll continue to serve the Institute well once I am gone.”

        Joan looked up at him. The door of emotion creaked open once more and faint trace of guilt crept through it.

        “Thank you, Shaun. That really means a lot to me,” she said, swiping at her eyes, sincerely touched. To her surprise, Shaun pulled her into a hug; it was brief, but genuine.

        “I’ll see you in the morning, Joan. Goodnight to both of you,” he said as they parted ways.


	12. I'd Do Anything for Love

Chapter 12: I’d Do Anything for Love

_But I won’t do that_

        Shaun was slouched at his desk; he looked exceptionally worn the morning following his announcement.

        “Are you alright?” Joan asked. She and X6-88 were standing in front of him, fully prepared and ready to go. He rubbed his eyes and smiled up at her.

        “No need to dote on me, Joan. I am fine. I’m just tired after everything yesterday,” he began. “I have a very important job for you and X6-88 today, on par with your work at Mass Fusion. We have picked up a lead on the Railroad, a rather sizable one, I must say. Our operative has discovered a location, as well as a password to enter, which is… unimaginatively, RAILROAD.” He rolled his eyes before leaning forward and lacing his hands together, looking grim.

        “You are to gain entrance to the Railroad headquarters and eliminate them. All of them. Show them no quarter. These fanatics cannot be allowed to continue to exist any longer—the events of yesterday have proven as much. We recovered Liam Binet’s terminal; he was working with them after all. He has been… taken care of.”

        Joan nodded solemnly at him; this was a familiar situation to her.

        “I’ll do what needs to be done,” she said. X6-88 nodded.

        “Thank you Joan. I knew you would be dependable. I am not usually one to advocate violence, but these zealots have left us no choice. Will you be ready to deploy soon? The Relay is prepared for you. It will deliver you to the Old North Church, in the North End of Boston. There is one other thing…”

        “Yes?”

        “We have their location uncovered, but I don’t know what exactly you might find when you enter. There is… a chance that you might run into my mother there. She has been confirmed to be working with them recently.” Shaun sighed and rubbed at his eyes again, the corners of his lips arched downward.

        “Just… handle it. Somehow. I don’t have any further direction than that.”

        Joan’s eyebrows tilted upward as she looked down at him.

        “I’ll do what I can, Shaun. Don’t worry.”

        “Though she is generally well mannered and peaceful, do not forget that she is capable of being incredibly dangerous, Joan. Watch yourself,” he replied, pulling his spotted hands from his face. She gave him her most fortifying smile, one which he did not return.

        “I’ll give you a full report when I get back,” she said and turned and left his office.

***

        The air outside the Old North Church rippled before sizzling with electric blue shards of light as Joan and X6-88 abruptly materialized. Joan inhaled deeply; the air in Boston was not nearly as refreshing as the air in the Mojave, but it was far better than the highly filtered atmosphere of the Institute.

        “Father has briefed me on the Synth, June Rockwell, Ma’am. He is correct—do not underestimate her,” X6-88 said. Joan thought back to the day she had first entered the Institute; it felt like she had tackled a stone wall instead of a woman. She also recalled the way June had looked at the gun she had pointed at her, with no more apprehension than if she’d produced a child’s cap gun from her holster. She squared her shoulders before walking up the stairs to the church.

        “I won’t. I’ve seen firsthand that she’s not to be taken lightly. Hmm.” Joan contemplated a moment before loosely hiking up her skirt and dropping to her haunches in a crouch, cracking open the door of the ancient church.

        “Good idea, Ma’am. It would do well to be extra cautious today,” X6-88 replied, mirroring her as they proceeded into the building, creeping silently.

        It was hazy and dark within the church except for a rainfall of light pouring in from an enormous hole in the ceiling and roof, as though God himself were looking in on them. Joan withdrew her sniper rifle and looked down the scope, inspecting the room. There didn’t appear to be any signs of life that she could see.

        “Ghouls,” X6-88 whispered calmly. Joan jumped, double checking the room.

        “Are you sure?”

        “Yes, Ma’am. I counted four.”

        She sighed and withdrew her combat knife. Joan loathed the feral ghouls in the Commonwealth—she wasn’t sure if it was the increased radiation of the area or some other phenomenon, but the ghouls here were much faster and deadlier than the ghouls she’d encountered back in the Mojave. X6-88 drew his own knife and silently pointed at a small lump of what Joan had initially perceived to be debris and rocks; it was a ghoul, lying dormant for the moment. She crept over to it as quietly as she could manage as it started to stir to life—she plunged her knife into its ragged and half decayed throat. It gurgled and twitched, dark musty blood streaming out of the jagged crevice she’d created. She heard rustling around the room and cursed; she had been too slow.

        “Stay down, Ma’am.” X6-88 leaped to her side, surprisingly light and noiseless despite his size. She obeyed him, huddling close to the edge of a pew while she watched him work. He sprang lightly to his feet and met the first ghoul just as it pulled itself up, delivering several sharp jabs at it in the blink of an eye; he caught it just as it pitched forward, already dead, blood streaming from the number of deep puncture wounds that now perforated its torso. He slowly and silently lowered the corpse to the ground, the dust motes in the air barely shifting around him. It was rare that she got to sit back and watch him work, but when she did it was breathtaking. In her mind’s eye she saw an army of Synths just like X6-88, marching in form into Arizona, straight into the heart of Flagstaff. Her tongue darted out and moistened her lips; the Legion wouldn’t begin to stand a chance. It would be a one sided slaughter, the likes of which Caesar himself could barely have dreamed of. Wickedly she dreamt of Legionaries falling, their crimson armor turned brightly arterial with fresh blood. Perhaps she would be fortunate enough to ensure that Vulpes Inculta would be saved for last, so that he could powerlessly watch his rebuilt army fall before him.

        While she lost herself in her fantasy X6-88 dispatched the other two ghouls, as easily and silently as he had the first. He crouched next to a ghoul and used its tattered shirt to wipe the musty dull blood off his blade before slipping it back into his coat.

        “Ma’am?”

        Joan snapped from her daydream and stood to join him.

        “Very good work, X6-88. You’re practically an artist at this,” she said as they began to explore the building. X6-88 gave her a rare restrained smile.

        “Thank you, Ma’am.”

        They picked through the church for a while, making sure that there were no more nasty surprises lurking in the shadows. The only threat they encountered was a tiny radroach; Joan mashed her small black dress shoe into it, rubbing the sole on the ground afterward leaving a faintly glowing green streak.

        “You don’t think Shaun’s information was wrong, do you?” she asked, looking around. They had spent the last forty minutes searching through the church and had discovered nothing.

        “It could be possible, but it’s unlikely,” X6-88 replied quietly. Joan pressed her lips together; ordinarily she enjoyed his blunt attitude, but it was frustratingly useless at the moment.

        They poked around a while longer before X6-88 looked up and stilled. After a moment he drew his pointer finger through the air, leading her eyes to a collapsed part of the second floor railing that was leaning against a wall near the entrance of the church. Joan leaned forward and squinted at the railing before giving in and looking down the scope of her rifle: just above the collapsed railing was a small white marking painted crudely in the dust.

        “A lantern?” she whispered. X6-88 nodded.

        “It makes sense, Ma’am” he began. “The Railroad is a sort of… beacon to escaped Synths. A light shining in darkness, if you will.”

        Joan jerked her head to him, her eyes wide.

        “ _What did you just say_?”

        He looked at her.

        “Is something wrong, Ma’am?” he asked. Color bloomed high in her cheeks.

        “ _No_. No, it’s nothing. Let’s go, I’m sure you’ve found the entrance.”

        He stared at her for a moment before obliging; the two wound their way back across the broken and collapsed pews to the far wall of the church.

        Joan lightly rapped her knuckles against the collapsed wall of railing.

        “Hollow. Doesn’t sound like there’s anything behind it,” she said. X6-88 stepped closer to the railing and pulled one side of it—it lifted away from the wall with ease in his firm grip, creating a small opening. Joan crouched and crawled through it into an open stairwell. She stood straight and smoothed out her skirt and straightened her tie. X6-88 crawled through a moment later, somewhat awkwardly as he supported the broken railing while squirming through the too-small opening. She waited patiently while he stood and dusted himself off, cobwebs clinging to his leather overcoat.

        “I’m ready when you are, Ma’am,” he said.

        “Here, we’re across enemy lines now, better use this,” she said, producing a stealthboy from her suit jacket and tossing it to him. He caught it easily as she withdrew a second one for herself.

        “Good idea again,” he said and they switched their stealthboys on in unison, the air faintly rippling around them. X6-88 reached out and lightly grabbed Joan’s left arm.

        “I don’t want to lose track of you, Ma’am,” he said. Joan flushed.

        “Uh, um… should we…” Joan awkwardly trailed off. X6-88 took the initiative and slid his hand down her arm until he gently seized her hand; she pressed her lips together, feeling self conscious. X6-88 took the lead, gently pulling her down the dark stairwell. Joan was glad she was invisible.

        They descended further and further underground, the air becoming stale and musty. They proceeded not into a basement but into a series of narrow tunnels that looked as though they could collapse any moment. Joan squeezed X6-88’s hand, glad to be tethered to him now.

        “Is there anything down here?” She glanced around, her eyes poorly adjusted to the darkness. The only sources of light were small gatherings of luminescent mushrooms that sprouted from the damp sections of the dirt floor, glowing faintly. X6-88 paused and looked around.

        “Not as far as I’m aware, Ma’am. For now at least, we seem to be safe,” he said, leading her forward again.

        After a few minutes he paused again and looked up. A thin red wire was laced against the ceiling and wall.

        “There,” he said, pointing at it. Joan squinted up at it, barely able to make it out in the gloom.

        “I’ll take your word that something’s there,” she said, and he led her further, following the wire through the tunnels. After a few minutes they arrived at a dead end. A wide open hole gaped in the wall and the red wire fed through it. Beyond the hole was a cavernous room that was well lit and Joan could hear the sounds of people talking beyond it. She and X6-88 dropped to their haunches again and silently crept through the hole in the wall. She turned to look at the hole—it looked like a door was connected to it. A large round seal covered it, emblazoned with THE FREEDOM TRAIL in bold letters. The fragments of conversation grew louder.

        “—take the fight to the Institute,” a voice said. Joan and X6-88 stilled, straining their ears to catch more of the conversation. They moved closer, staying near the edges of the well lit chamber and Joan blinked spots out of her eyes as they readjusted to the light.

        “If you’re sure. I know your… I know _he’s_ in there. Are you going to be okay with that?” a male voice replied. Joan thought it sounded familiar. She and X6-88 approached a corner, and Joan peeked around it. X6-88’s grip on her hand tightened as she jumped; June Rockwell and the detective, Nick Valentine, were standing around the corner, speaking quietly to each other.

        “I… I have to be, don’t I? Preston is right. The Institute is posing too big a threat. He said they’ve been much more aggressive since I went there, and that there have been sightings all over the place. That… thing that went down at Bunker Hill. And what I heard about Mass Fusion, they took that thing out of it, that reactor core. They’re up to something, something big,” June Rockwell replied anxiously, bouncing back and forth in her heels. She looked exactly as she did the day she nearly shot Shaun. Nick sighed.

        “I know June, just… I don’t want you to do something you’d regret. I know from experience; killing them might not bring you any closure.”

        June stepped closer to Nick, drawing his metal hand into hers and staring intently at him. She was very nearly as tall as he was.

        “I know, Nick. But it’s not just about me. It’s about the Commonwealth as a whole. I have to do what’s right,” she said. She didn’t look entirely convinced and it seemed Nick could pick up on that as well.

        “We don’t have to speak to Desdemona about it today. This is Garvey’s pet project anyway. Let’s just think about it for a while. There’s always more work to be done, no shortage of people to help while we figure things out,” Nick replied in his weathered voice. June pulled away from him, her lips settling into a thin coral line as she turned resolute.

        “I can’t put this off forever, Nick. Preston’s ready; I’ve got the explosive and the detonator on me right now. He said that all I have to do is stick it to their reactor and then it’s over. The entire Institute is gone.”

        Joan gasped; Nick and June spun around, looking for the source of the noise and Joan scrambled to stand up, flinging her stealthboy away, the air shimmering as she rematerialized in front of them. Nick and June jumped, their eyebrows shooting upward. X6-88 leapt to his feet to stand by her, throwing his stealthboy away as well.

        “What the hell—it’s _you_!” Nick barked, his hand diving into his coat.

        “Ma’am!” X6-88 whipped out his own rifle and pointed it at Nick Valentine, who stilled, his jaw clenched.

        “ _Nick_!” June cried out in distress, entirely ignoring Joan. Red flashed behind Joan’s eyes and she launched herself at June.

        “You can’t do that!” Joan roared and crashed into June with enough force that the other woman staggered. Joan hung onto her like a madwoman and Nick and X6-88 froze, staring at them with their mouths open.

        “What the— _get off me_!” June shrieked, crashing onto her back on the dusty dirt floor. Joan straddled her, her small hands digging into June’s shoulders with as much force as she could muster.

        “Where the hell did you even come from!” June said, staring up at Joan with her mouth hanging open. Joan was panting, her glasses slipping down her nose.

        “You! You can’t—are you trying to _destroy_ the Institute?” she snarled. June mashed the back of her head into the dirt to try to create distance between them, twisting her face away.

        “I—I don’t know, maybe!” she cried out. Joan swelled with rage, glaring hard down at June.

        “ _You don’t even fucking know_!” She gnashed her teeth and June recoiled further, seeming to ripple in a pool of blackness beneath her. Joan felt as though she had stepped backward in time; June disappeared entirely beneath her and Joan was not straddling her, but standing in the Nuclear Silo of the Divide.

***

        “ED-E, _no_. I can’t let you do this, I won’t let you sacrifice yourself. There has to be another way.”

        Joan seized the Eyebot with her small white hands on either of his dingy faceplate. He sagged in the air, leaning into her touch, and expelled a low melancholy beep. Joan stared hard at him, her eyes wild, zigzagging back and forth as she drank him in. They had been through so much during their time together. If felt as though it were only yesterday that she had repaired him in Primm, and he had been by her side through nearly everything since then: Nipton, finding and killing Benny, dethroning House; he had even accompanied her through the Divide, bent on helping her find the man who was obsessed with the woman she had been before she lost everything. Ulysses. She slid her hands away from ED-E and twisted back to the large console that stood beside them. Two large red buttons were lit prominently.

        “The Bear or the Bull.”

        Ulysses stood a few feet away watching her flatly with his dark hands resting at his sides. She ignored him.

        “Fuck… _fuck_ —fuck the Legion, what the hell have they done to deserve better anyway,” she spat, her finger—unscarred then—hovering over the button that designated Flagstaff. Ulysses watched her, his expression unreadable.

        Her finger touched the button, exerting just enough pressure to depress it a fraction of a millimeter before an image sprang unbidden into her mind.

        Siri.

        The slave woman she had met during her night at Fortification Hill, just before she had activated the Securitrons. Joan had instructed her how to better utilize her scant supplies to make more healing powder before cursing herself, realizing she’d accidentally aided her enemy. She didn’t even know why she would have thought of her. They had met only once; prior to this moment Joan couldn’t have even recalled what her voice sounded like, much less what she looked like.

        Her shoulders drooped and water welled up in her eyes, turning her vision blurry.

        “What will your choice be, Courier Six?”

        Joan slammed her palms against the console, rattling it before whipping to face him, her eyes washed red and freely streaming with tears.

        “I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO!”

        She wept, her shoulders heaving. She mashed her palms against her face, burning with turmoil and felt a terrible blackness squeezing inside her. Conviction had always been easy for Joan. She hadn’t hesitated when she decided House needed to die for a better New Vegas. She had taken Joshua Graham’s side instantly when he told her what the White Legs had done to New Canaan, despite Daniel pleading and begging her not to. She felt no fear of the upcoming battle for Hoover Dam; she knew she would be able to take it, with Yes Man and her Securitrons by her side as God watched over them.

        She stood with her face buried in her hands, the pads of her glasses digging into her nose as she heaved, the sobs coming uncontrollably now. Pushing this button could solve almost all her problems. It was everything she had ever wanted, at least since she had witnessed the horrors of Nipton. The Legion deserved to die. It would probably even be painless for them, if what little knowledge she had of the prewar world held true. They could be vaporized instantly. There wouldn’t even have to be a second battle for the Dam.

        But she couldn’t shake the image of Siri from her head. How many women must there be in Arizona, just like her. Their blank downcast eyes, too defeated and submissive to even meet the gaze of a fellow woman. Clad in disgusting filthy rags, marked like cattle with red slashes crisscrossing over their backs. And the things they endured. Joan had seen the evidence of it in the Nipton town hall; bruises and bite marks covering the townswomen, their legs splayed and crooked, their clothing ripped as though they had been savaged by wild animals. But no—men had done this to them. Her stomach twisted and she felt nauseous. It could be fast for them too, she tried to rationalize to herself. Faster than a thousand tiny deaths every day as their lives were slowly drained from them with every whipping, every beating, every rape. She sagged against the console, resting her face in her arms.

        They deserved better.

        “ _I can’t do it_ ,” she cried, broken. Ulysses watched her, judging her as she could not bring herself to judge Caesar’s Legion.

        ED-E beeped behind her and she turned to face him, her eyes swollen. ED-E bobbed in the air and beeped again, his antennae waving toward the console she supported herself on. She squeezed her eyes shut once more, her face crumpling. She buried her face back in her arms.

        “I can’t… _I can’t_ ,” she said, her voice growing shrill. ED-E beeped at her again, authoritatively this time. He hovered close to her shoulder, nudging her. She pulled her head from her arms and looked at him once more. He waved his antennae once again, this time smacking it against the console before bobbing up and down, his beeps sounding cheerful.

        “You’re running out of time,” Ulysses said monotonously.

        “Is… Is there a chance you could survive this?” she asked ED-E, hauling herself up to properly stand, her legs feeling like jelly. ED-E bobbed forward at her in an approximation of a nod. Her chin wrinkled and a fresh wave of tears threatened to pour from her eyes again. She thrust her hand inside her suit jacket and clutched the bible Joshua had given her before she left Zion. God, she prayed, please let me be lucky again. Just one more time. She couldn’t bear to lose her small friend who had been with her through thick and thin.

        Shakily she stepped back from the console.

        “If… if you’re really sure you want to do this,” she said, swallowing hard against the painful lump in her throat. “Then—then go ahead and stop the missiles.”

        ED-E darted forward and connected to the console, setting to work on it. Immediately the lights in the silo began to flicker and dim, and the console buzzed with electricity. Joan clenched the short divider next to the console, her knuckles white.

        “We need to go,” Ulysses said, looking up. The room had begun to thunder and shake, the ceiling cracking, debris beginning to rain around them. Within seconds enormous chunks of the ceiling itself began to cascade down as well, denting into the metal floor. Joan stared transfixed at ED-E, her jaw set painfully as she watched him shudder and vibrate as he worked. Ulysses reached out, his fingertips brushing Joan’s upper arm and she whipped around to face him.

        “Then leave, you fucking coward! I’m not going anywhere until I make sure he’s safe!” She wrenched her arm away from him and his eyebrows rose over his bloodshot eyes. Silently he turned from her and dashed down the long corridor that led back to the entrance of the Silo, chunks of metal and plaster crashing down in his wake. Joan turned back to ED-E.

        The terminal sizzled and started popping, a harsh bluish white glow burning between the thin metal panels that covered it. On screen was a red progress bar, denoting how close ED-E was to succeeding in stopping the missile launch. Only a sliver of the bar remained blank.

        “You can do it, I know you can,” she whispered to ED-E. ED-E was beginning to sizzle as well and tears streaked down her face once again. _No no no no_ , she thought miserably. ED-E turned to face her as the progress bar switched to a vibrant green and the console roared, exploding in a burst of blinding white light.

        Her ears rang painfully.

        Beneath her cheek she could feel cold metal. The floor shook beneath her and she hauled herself up on her elbow, looking around dazedly. It felt as though hours had passed, although it could have only been seconds. Blood poured down her other cheek and she touched her temple gingerly—a piece of metal must have grazed her from the console, she thought, noticing the smoking crater than had been the missile launch terminal. She gasped.

        Beside it was ED-E. She scrambled to crawl over to him. Horror and shock rolled over her as she saw that he lay motionless. The light was gone.

***

        A single tear landed on June’s cheek. It quivered for a moment before sliding into the groove of the scar that divided her face.

        “How could you even think of doing something so heinous,” Joan said, staring down at June. She blinked furiously, trying to prevent more tears from coming. June watched her with shock, her mouth popped open. “That’s your _son_. There are innocent people in there that you’ve never even met. Even the Synths that you love so fucking much, they’re in there too. Would you really sacrifice their lives because you disagree with some of them? Are you really so cold hearted?”

        June closed her mouth and her chin quivered as well. Nick and X6-88 stood watching them, their weapons lowered. Tears began to run down the sides of June’s face, sneaking out from behind her large sunglasses.

        “ _Oh god_ ,” she said, pulling herself up to sit. Joan toppled off of her and she scrambled to catch herself before sitting on the ground beside her. She drew her knees up to her chest and swiped angrily at her eyes, trying to shove away the memory of ED-E and regain control of herself. June lowered her head, burying her face in her hands. Her large shoulders trembled.

        “Oh my god,” she repeated. “What was I thinking?”

        Nick and X6-88 seemed to be at a loss for words, exchanging a quick look before looking back at the two women on the ground. June sobbed before rustling at the side of her dress. She produced a detonator with a single button on it and clenched her fist around it; the flesh of her palm and fingers turned white and the detonator splintered, thick shards of industrial plastic flying out in every direction. Joan stared at her in awe; Shaun had not been embellishing her super human capabilities. She doubted even X6-88 could have shattered a piece of solid plastic in his bare hand. June threw the ruined pieces of plastic and circuitry to the ground in disgust.

        “I can’t believe myself,” she said, her voice dull and lifeless. “What’s wrong with me? Why…? I was there that day. I saw the bombs fall with my own two eyes. I know what it’s like to experience that, just…” she trailed off, crying once again, pushing her glasses up to wipe at her eyes. Her tears washed away the last of Joan’s rage, and she saw some of herself in June.

        Joan reached out to her.

        “I know what it’s like,” she said, meeting June’s eyes. June hastily let her glasses fall back into place, obscuring her scarred face once more. Joan seized her hand, much larger than her own, but also softer, her thick palm cushioning against her own thin and calloused fingers.

        “I know what it’s like to… want to protect something. Protect it so much that you’re willing to do whatever it takes to make sure that thing is safe,” Joan continued, speaking softly. “It’s the burden of leadership. You try so hard, so goddamn hard, to make sure everyone is looked after. You’re willing to do anything. But the Institute is not the enemy here, not in the Commonwealth.”

        June seemed to compose herself somewhat and swiped at her eyes one last time, readjusting her glasses.

        “But… wait,” she said, a thin line creasing over the bridge of her glasses as she looked at Joan. “You’re _with_ the Institute. What exactly are you doing here?”

        Nick’s eyebrows shot up in surprise and he looked impressed with June. Joan and X6-88 stiffened in unison.

        “That’s a damn good question,” Nick continued for June, his tone growing dark. “Two Institute stoolies, showing up at the doorstep of the Railroad Headquarters. Somehow I doubt you’re here to sell Avon.”

        Joan wasn’t sure what he was talking about; she straightened her tie and cleared her throat, trying to buy time to think of something, anything. A deep inner part of her seethed that she would relate to June only to have her turn around and question her motives, even if they were well deserved. She shoved her own glasses further up on her nose.

        “It’s… fuck. Look, I’ll just give it to you straight,” Joan sighed. She was too fucking exhausted for any more lies, her shoulders dropping.

        “Fine. You got me. We were here to wipe out the Railroad.”

        June sprang to her feet, leaving Joan to sit on the floor alone.

        “What the hell is wrong with you! You—you give me all that about saving innocent lives and you were here to do the same damn thing!” June shouted at her, furious red splotches blooming on her cheeks. Nick and X6-88 immediately drew their weapons at each other again. Joan rested her face in her palms. She was tired, so tired. Her eyes stung from the traitor tears that had escaped her and she wished she just could disappear and reappear back in Vegas. None of this had been worth it. She should have listened to Arcade; she should have just fortified Vegas as best as she could, made sure her Securitrons were well maintained, and she would have dealt with the Legion when they came for her again.

        The Legion. She screwed her eyes shut painfully, spots blooming behind her eyelids. She was so fucking tired.

        Joan dully pulled her face away from her hands and looked up; June had withdrawn her small pistol, the same one she had pointed at Shaun, and it was now aimed at her forehead. Anger punctured the fatigue—anger and the beginning of an idea.

        “There are greater enemies out there,” she said, staring defiantly up at the pistol aimed at her. “If it’s not me, it’ll be someone else. Do you know who that someone else is?”

        June looked uncertain before shaking her head.

        “The Brotherhood of Steel,” she said. Nick and June both looked at her.

        “You know it’s true,” Joan continued, gaining steam. “Yes, the Institute has not always treated Synths as well as they could have, but we don’t hate them. We want to create even more of them. They’re a net benefit for humanity and the Commonwealth. But you know the Brotherhood hates them. They’ve been our single greatest enemy here in the Commonwealth. They’re harsh, cruelly militaristic. What do you think they’ll do when they discover the Railroad? It’s only a matter of time. They’re coming for your friends, whether you like it or not. _I_ can be reasoned with; we both know that they can’t.”

        June’s head swiveled between Joan and Nick. Nick looked grim.

        “I hate to admit that she’s got a point,” he said. His mouth set into a firm line before he looked coldly at Joan again. “Not that that excuses you. So what is it exactly you’re proposing here?”

        “I think we should set aside our differences and work together.”

        June, Nick and X6-88 bristled and all started speaking at once, loud in the stone cavern. Joan clenched her hands into fists and hauled herself up to her feet.

        “It’s the only logical solution!” Joan shouted through the din. They all turned to look down at her. She straightened her hat and smoothed out her rumpled skirt.

        “June, you decided not to bomb the Institute. Can you accept that I’m withdrawing my own plans to eradicate the Railroad? Why don’t we work together? You have to know that I’m right about the Brotherhood. As soon as they root out the Railroad, they’ll come for the Institute. And as soon as they’re done with us, what do you think they’re going to do, leave the Commonwealth? You’re a fucking idiot if you even entertain the idea.” She glared up at June. The idea had come to Joan from nowhere in a desperate bid to save her own skin, but now that she had committed to it she saw the opportunity that lay before her.

        “I know the Brotherhood,” she continued. “They’re as dull and thick as the power armor they wear. I’ve dealt with them before—they won’t stop until they have what they want. They didn’t show up in that giant airship to take down a couple ragtag groups of wastelanders; they want to use the Institute technology for themselves, and they want the rest of whatever the Commonwealth has to give. They’ll crush the Minutemen like a fucking radroach.”

        June looked down at her and bit her lip, her brows briefly appearing over her sunglasses in a worried arc.

        “If we work together, we can destroy them before they destroy us. It would be too convenient for us to tear each other apart while they sit up in that fucking airship and watch before swooping down on the remains like vultures. This is your home isn’t it? Then fucking defend it!” Joan shouted, jamming her hands on her hips, her stance wide. June thrust her gun back into the folds of her dress before placing her hands on her own hips.

        “I can’t condone what the Institute does to Synths and you know that. I wouldn’t do it for my own _son_ , let alone some—some tiny little battle-axe like you!” June snapped back. Joan paused, lifting her finger to her lips while she contemplated a thought, unoffended by June’s name-calling.

        “Then what if I could promise you that you won’t have to?”

        June looked at her skeptically.

        “I’m serious. I’ve been appointed to be the next Director of the Institute. This isn’t an empty promise. I can’t control what Sh— _your son_ does now, but… but soon,” Joan trailed off, frowning deeply. “Soon I’ll be the Director. When I’m in control, you have my word that the Synths will be treated better.”

        “ _You’re_ going to be the Director?” Nick asked her, finally sliding his gun back into his trench coat. “You can’t have been there more than five, six months tops. Why the hell are they making _you_ Director?”

        Joan looked down, weary and tired again.

        “I’m sorry you have to learn it this way, but June… you son, Shaun. He’s got cancer. He’s dying.”

        June inhaled sharply and covered her mouth.

        “No— _no_ , you’re lying,” she said. Tears were already sliding out from behind her glasses. Joan pulled off her own glasses and rubbed her eyes between her scarred forefinger and thumb.

        “Should you really be telling them this, Ma’am?” X6-88 interjected. Joan flapped her free hand at him.

        “She would have had to learn eventually. There’s nothing to be gained by concealing it from her,” she said, pushing her glasses back on and looking up at June. June was weeping freely now.

        “I’m sorry. It’s… I know it’s not comparable to what you must be feeling, but it hurts me too. I’ve become very close to him in the time I’ve known him. Your son is a good man.” Joan clenched her jaw against her own flood of tears. She had only spoken the truth: Shaun had become the single closest thing she had to a true friend in the Commonwealth. It still didn’t seem fair that he should be dying, that he should be taken away from his hard work. Even Robert House had found a way to artificially extend his life—if you could have called his existence living—but the Institute was powerless to help their leader despite the technological leaps and bounds ahead they were from the rest of society. Deep down it filled her with an existential dread, that no matter how hard she persevered in the end the darkness would take her, the same as it claimed every other human being. It wasn’t fair.

        June had buried her face in her hands and was openly sobbing, her shoulders heaving as her torturously wracked noises bounced off the cavern walls. Joan looked away from her, afraid that if she acknowledged even a fraction of the other woman’s grief that she would be unable to stop herself from giving in to her own. Nick finally moved from his on-again-off-again standoff with X6-88 and looped his arm around her shoulders.

        “I think we should go,” he said stiffly. Joan didn’t trust herself to speak and nodded at him.

        “If… _if_ you’re serious about this... Look me up in Diamond City. We’ll be at my office,” he said before leading June away from them, back through the dusty maze of tunnels and ancient tombs, her cries echoing from the darkness like sad ghosts. Joan’s shoulders dropped again.

        “Should we…” X6-88 was looking down the corridor that led to the Railroad Headquarters, the tips of his fingers slipping into his coat.

        “No,” Joan cut him off. “We’ll speak to Shaun about this. Will you teleport us back to the Institute?”

        “Yes Ma’am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to make a note of the alteration I have made regarding ED-E in this story--I have long felt that the events of Lonesome Road would have been even more impactful if you had taken ED-E himself in with you, instead of his copy in the DLC. I understand why they chose not to do that (for gameplay reasons, etc), but it's a choice I decided to make when writing this.
> 
> As a side note, holy fuck did I cry during Lonesome Road. I love that little robot so damn much <3


	13. Breathe Your Name

Chapter 13: Breathe Your Name

_I view the list and take my pick—I view my fate and make the choice, cause it's nobody else's but mine_

        “I don’t know how to feel about this.” Shaun was agitatedly drumming his fingers against his desk. Joan cast her eyes to the floor.

        “I’m sorry, Father.”

        “You completely defied my orders,” he began sharply before tapering off and sighing. “But… you bring up a good point. The Brotherhood has long been on my agenda. You are right; they do need to be dealt with. I was hoping to have more time to prepare… Not to mention my mother—”

        Joan looked up at him again, her expression resolute.

        “You told me yourself that you didn’t want her dead or reclaimed.”

        “… Yes, I’ll admit that was resourceful. But you can’t go promising things that we, the Institute, cannot deliver on. The Synths are not people, I have told you this, and up until now you’ve been on my side in that regard. Do not let my mother’s expertly crafted humanity fool you.”

        Joan bristled.

        “You act like I’m going to turn them loose the day you…” she hesitated, swallowing, “…hand over the reins.” She couldn’t bring herself to utter the word _die_ , feeling that he might collapse on the spot, that her words would immediately bring about his conclusion if she spoke them aloud and made them reality.

        “That is the impression I have after your account of what happened, yes,” Shaun replied dryly. Joan pulled off her hat and ran her fingers through her hair.

        “The Institute will continue its work after you pass, I’ll make sure of that. I want to interfere as little as possible with the vision you have of the Institute’s future. But you have to agree that it’s smarter to concede, just a little bit, so that the Commonwealth isn’t trapped in a never ending civil war,” she said. “The Minutemen can establish themselves on the surface, and we can… _ensure_ that our goals are aligned.”

        Shaun looked back up at her, his eyebrows raised. He smiled for the first time since she had entered his office.

        “Perhaps I was too quick to jump to conclusions, Joan. For that, I apologize. It has been all too easy to doubt my decision; I’ve spent the entire morning putting out fires in the different departments. My decision to name you as my successor has not been a popular one, I’m afraid. But you’re right. If we can… steer the Minutemen in a direction that suits our goals, that would be ideal. And finally dealing with the Brotherhood of Steel, even more so.” He relaxed in his chair, sitting back against the seat.

        “This will be _your_ project. Find a way to make this work and do what you feel is necessary. I will make sure it is known that this has been entirely your own initiative. The last thing I want when I pass is for the Institute to devolve into chaos and try to stage some sort of coup, although I’d hope I am respected enough for everyone to honor my wishes when I am gone. I’m putting the Institute in your hands, Joan.”

        Joan swept her desperado hat back onto her head.

        “I’ll do everything in my power, Shaun.”

***

        Joan tugged a large black coat around her and drew the hood up over her face before looking over her shoulder: the dark alley and streets behind her were empty, despite the rattle of gunfire in the distance. She pushed open the door.

        Goodneighbor.

        She hadn’t been here for several months—she and X6-88 had made a habit of avoiding it after her falling out with Hancock. She looked around again as she entered, hoping he wouldn’t be lurking out in the square as he had been during her first visit to the neighborhood. It looked more or less the same as it had then: a few ghouls were scattered around the square, dozing off their highs or reading faded copies of Publick Occurrences. She strode past them all, past the Third Rail, past a few shop stalls that were quiet in the late hour. She had a certain place in mind, although she had never been there before. She was thankful for Hancock’s laissez faire approach to society—her unusual attire didn’t draw any attention at all from the locals.

        After a while of navigating the narrow streets and alleys she finally spotted her destination. An enormous marquee loomed over her that read SCOLLAY SQ in bold arching letters. Warm red light radiated from the smaller sign beneath it, reflecting onto the wet street.

        MEMORY DEN

        Joan cast another look around before stepping up to the red double doors and quietly pulling one open, slipping inside.

        Just inside the entryway were walls decorated with raunchy posters proclaiming GIRLS GIRLS GIRLS. She wrinkled her nose and wondered if Hancock had been pulling her chain. He had told her that there was a place in Goodneighbor where someone could hook themselves up to a machine and relive their memories as vividly as though they were experiencing them for the first time. She hadn’t thought much of it at the time, preoccupied with finding the Institute, but the idea had resurfaced in her mind after leaving Shaun’s office earlier in the day. She was still tired, still exhausted. The feeling had persisted throughout the day and she had wound up holing herself up in her personal quarters, constantly on the verge of humiliating tears. She had managed to hold them at bay, but only just, and it was becoming harder and harder.

        Joan missed home. She missed Arcade, Boone and Cass. She missed Zion. She felt miserable and sick to even think of Joshua Graham. She tugged her coat tighter around her and proceeded further into the nearly silent building.

        “Hello?”

        She rounded a corner and was faced with a large room lined with strange looking pods, almost like the ones she had found in Vault 111. At the back of the room was a woman relaxing on a chaise lounge. She had her head bent to a book, a mass of dark feathers fanning out around her pretty face. She looked up as Joan approached.

        “Well hello there, sweetheart,” she said, looking Joan up and down. Joan blushed.

        “I… heard this was a place for people looking to relive some things. Is that true?” she asked. The blonde woman gave her a mysterious smile and a small throaty laugh.

        “That’s the trade. I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before. Little thing like you, I’m surprised you’re here alone. Must have something pretty good you want to remember,” she said.

        Joan swallowed, feeling strangely nervous around this woman. She looked almost like a Madame, like she could be in Vegas running one of the casinos. She doubted even the elite of the Ultra Luxe would turn her away; she could already envision the Chairmen falling over themselves to try to charm her, as if they would have stood a chance.

        “I’m new in town. I… don’t really know what I want to remember. Is that a problem?” she asked. She looked around again and risked tugging down her hood—it was unexpectedly warm in the Memory Den.

        “Well sweetheart, we don’t take just anyone. Reliving the past is… intense. Not everyone is up to it,” the woman replied, staring at Joan appraisingly. Joan reached into her overly large coat and withdrew a substantial sack of caps, placing it on the table next to the woman with a jangle. The woman’s eyebrows shot up and her mouth popped open.

        “Money isn’t a problem,” Joan said. The blonde quickly reined in her look of surprise before seizing the bag of caps and pulling the drawstring open. She poked through the contents of the bag and let out a low whistle.

        “Good lord, sweetheart, you’re not joking. This must be at least—”

        “Take it. Whatever is leftover, consider it charity. Now can I relive the past or not?”

        “Don’t you just know the way to a woman’s heart,” she replied before laughing again, low and seductive. She closed the bag and tucked it securely under her chaise lounge before shutting her book and extending her pale manicured hand. Joan shook it, finding her hand to be pleasantly cool in the warm air.

        “Irma, sweetheart. And you are?”

        “I’d rather not disclose that.”

        “Fair enough. Get a lot of folks in these parts who keep to themselves. Let’s get you set up.”

        Irma stood from the lounge chair and led Joan into one of the rooms that branched off the main chamber. Within the room was one of the pods, a worn and tattered chair, and a small table. Irma gestured for Joan to sit in the chair and she complied.

        “Now I wasn’t joking about it being intense. Reliving a memory has… a lot of kick to it. It can be wonderful, exhilarating,” she paused, her palms in the air like a set of scales, weighing them up and down, “or it can be pure hell. Are you still sure you want to do this?”

        Joan nodded.

        “Alright sweetheart, it’s your caps and your mind. Don’t say you weren’t warned. Now what do you want to relive?” Irma asked.

        Joan looked down and fidgeted with the sleeve of her coat, pulling the frayed threads apart and twisting them.

        “I really don’t know.”

        Irma bit the inside of her cheek as she watched her.

        “Well, the easiest memories to relive are ones that involve other people, people that you’re close to, that you have strong memories of. Recent memories are better.”

        “I don’t have any recent memories I’d like to relive. Is that okay?” Joan asked.

        Irma tapped her boot and contemplated her.

        “Well, I guess it’ll have to be. Take a seat in the Memory Lounger, honey, while I go and get my partner.”

        Irma stepped out of the room and Joan awkwardly climbed into the lounger, laying back into the soft padding. Suspended above her inside the glass dome was a screen fuzzed with static. Joan smoothed her skirt and straightened her tie and waited anxiously with her hands laced across her stomach. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting and was hoping she hadn’t just given several thousand caps away for nothing. She drummed her fingertips lightly against the ridge of her Pipboy and licked her lips.

        “Alright Amari, she’s all set up,” Irma called, walking back into the room. She shut the lid of the pod, closing Joan in. Joan took a shaky breath and her fingertips grew cold as a wave of claustrophobic anxiety swept over her.

        “Just try to relax, honey. I’m here with you, and so is Doctor Amari. We’ll pull you out if anything gets too intense, okay?” Irma bent down and looked at Joan through the glass. Joan nodded rigidly and Irma frowned at her.

        “Sweetie, you really don’t look like you can handle—”

        “It’s fine. Do it,” Joan cut her off stiffly. “I paid damn good caps for this. I just… I need to see them again. Please.” She bit her lip and Irma’s frown dissolved into sympathy.

        “Alright, sweetheart. Hook her up, Amari.”

        Joan breathed in deeply and blinked.

        As soon as her eyes were open again she gasped, or tried to. Something was stuffed into her mouth, and it was bitter and salty, like sweat. She looked blearily around. It was dark and the desert sand felt like cold slate underneath her. A man in a checked coat was standing in front of her, a cigarette in one hand and a pistol—Maria, her mind told her numbly—in the other, pointed directly at her head. A bolt of terror shot through her and she tried to scream.

        “From where you're kneeling it must seem like an 18-carat run of bad luck. Truth is...the game was rigged from the start.”

        Joan’s eyes were so wide they stung, tugging at the thin flesh of her eyelids as Benny pulled the trigger, flooding her mind with blinding white light.

        “It’s okay! It’s okay, Miss. It’s Doctor Amari! I’m here. You’re in the Memory Den. Irma, get her out of the chair, oh my god—”

        NO, Joan thought loudly, hovering in darkness. She felt weightless. The voice was quiet.

        PLEASE, she thought again. I CAN DO THIS.

        “Good God, Miss,” the voice said again. “That memory was… I’m so sorry you had to relive that. Are you sure you want to continue?”

        YES. PLEASE. I PAID A LOT OF CAPS FOR THIS. I’LL BE FINE.

        “… Alright… Please try to think of something, anything, that’s nicer.”

        Joan blinked again.

        Before her eyes were even open she was breathing in the smoky scent of sage, and a smile spread across her face. She opened her eyes.

        A light sun shower was pattering down in the valley and she breathed in deeply, savoring the sage, the poppies, the wet and fecund scent of the river that flowed below the cliff she was standing on. A heavy pack was slung across her back and a melancholy shadow passed over her.

        “I want you to have this.”

        Joshua Graham was standing in front of her, and despite the tiredness in his eyes he looked pleased. She looked down at his bandaged hands; he was holding out a worn bible, offering it to her. She inhaled sharply.

        “That’s… I don’t know what to say,” she said, glancing down at it before looking back up at him. She could see the smile in his eyes and warmth spread over her fingertips and up her arms, flooding her.

        “Most people can’t spare a thought for any higher power in the world we live in, too cynical, too consumed with the minutiae of their daily lives, concerned only with the fruits that lay directly in front of them. It delights me to know that you’re receptive to the idea of God and Christ; if anyone could appreciate this, I think it would be you.”

        He pressed the scripture into her hands, and she accepted it.

        “This means a lot to me,” she said quietly, tucking the bible inside her suit jacket. It felt warm against her heart.

        “Then carry it with you; walk in love, as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us. Even for people like you and I, there is a light in the darkness.”

        “Oh, thank goodness,” Doctor Amari interrupted her memory. “I’m glad to see that you do have nice things in there after all.”

        The sweet memory of Zion dissolved around Joan, like bright ashes scattering from a fire, leaving her in the darkness again.

        REALLY? she thought, frustrated.

        “Don’t blame me, Miss. Your memories are much older than we usually entertain. You’re lucky we can read them with any clarity at all. Now what else, what else…”

        Joan blinked.

        Burning.

        The bitter stench of burnt rubber surrounded her, the air hanging thick and hazy. She looked down. She wasn’t wearing her suit; instead she wore a tight shirt with a thin jacket covering it. Her legs were clad in torn stockings with long runs cutting across her legs under her skirt. A lead pipe hung from her hip, heavy enough that it dragged her belt down. She looked back up.

        “Don’t worry. I won’t have you lashed to a cross like the rest of these degenerates.”

        Fear, much more fear than she had felt back then, ripped through her. She tried to step backward but couldn’t. She stood locked in place, staring up at Vulpes Inculta. Her mind seemed to be split in two—the part of her in the past and the part of her in the present.

        KILL HIM KILL HIM KILL HIM!

        “Why?” she asked warily, her thumb grazing the lead pipe. Though she was outnumbered, she refused to show weakness or fear. The men around her, the Legionaries, stared at her, and she could feel their eyes lingering on her bare legs. She dug her heels into the ground and narrowed her eyes at them as though she would have stood a chance against them.

        She didn’t know the Legion then, not as she knew them today. Even though she knew what would happen, that they would merely walk away and leave her alone, her mind screamed at her to run from the incredible danger that she was just standing there completely oblivious to.

        IDIOT GET THE HELL AWAY FROM THEM RUN DO SOMETHING

        “It’s useful that you happened by. I want you to witness the fate of the town of Nipton, to memorize every detail,” Vulpes Inculta continued in his light, silky voice. Even though he wore thick black goggles she could feel his eyes boring directly into hers. She tore her eyes away from him and instead caught the anguished and haggard gaze of one of the Powder Gangers, hanging limply from a cross made from a broken telephone pole. Blood ran from his wrists and chest and he groaned in agony, his body gleaming with sweat in the firelight.

        “ _Oh my god_ ,” Doctor Amari said, and Joan could hear the horror in her voice. “That’s it, this is… oh my god, that’s enough, I’m pulling you out!”

        NO NO NO, PLEASE, JUST ONE MORE

        “Absolutely not! You’re not the only person who has to witness this. That’s two strikes down, you’re not getting a third.”

        PLEASE! I’LL DOUBLE THE CAPS, I SWEAR IT. JUST ONE MORE.

        Amari hesitated.

        “You had better be good for it. But this is the last one. I see anything… anything like _that_ again, and I’m pulling you out, no warning. Now concentrate.”

        Joan blinked again and Vulpes Inculta’s face shattered into glassy shards in front of her.

        Bright lights surrounded her now and she could hear bustling from below. Distantly she could see the doors of the Tops open and music spilled out with its drunken patrons, roaring with laughter in the night. She was wearing her suit again.

        “It’s going to be weird here, without you,” Arcade said, standing beside her on the balcony of the Lucky 38. “And that’s saying a lot. You’re pretty weird.”

        Joan laughed. The Joan in the present could have cried looking at him.

        “Ha, like you’re one to talk, with your past,” she snorted. Arcade twisted his head to meet her eyes, his expression dark before he lightened and smiled at her.

        “Oh ha ha. _Hilarious._ But really…” he paused, looking down over the Strip again. “I’m going to miss you. Are you… are you really sure…?” he trailed off. Joan looked up at him and smiled.

        “Come on, Arcade, we’ve been over it a hundred times. Cass and I are all packed, there’s no backing out now. Come out with us tomorrow to Hoover Dam, see us off.”

        “Of course I will. I just… Like I said, I’ll miss you. The Strip, Freeside, it won’t be the same without you.” He clasped his hands over the railing, a sad smile crossing his face.

        “I just want you to know… and I know you’re not the sentimental type, but… I’m glad you took Vegas. I had my doubts at first, you know. When I said back then that I wanted an independent Vegas, I hadn’t _quite_ anticipated that you would murder House to get it. But I’m glad you did. The Mojave is thriving, because of you. Nipton’s been restored. Primm is turning into a downright trading hub, with all the business coming in from the NCR. And the Followers… God. We struggled so much before you came along.”

        Joan blushed and tugged at her tie.

        “That’s really not—”

        “I’m serious.” Arcade turned to her, his expression somber. “The Old Mormon Fort would have petered out and been long gone by now if you didn’t keep us supplied. Julie has barely had to ask for so much as a single cap before you’re shoving entire sacks of them into her hands. Freeside isn’t a damn ghetto anymore. I mean, it’s not the Strip, but they’re looked after. We’ve been able to provide medical care and agricultural knowledge for _everyone_ , not just the people of the Strip and Freeside. People actually journey here to visit the clinic. We barely have enough doctors to keep up with the demand, and you take care of all of us.

        “House wouldn’t give a single cap if his dear old mother’s life depended on it, the old bastard. The best damn thing that ever happened to this place was you taking everything of his and actually putting it to good use. We’re lucky to have you,” he said before pausing and running a hand through his pale wavy hair.

        “Please come back safely. We need you.”

        Joan blinked.

        The domed glass of the Memory Lounger was blurry. Joan reached up and touched her face, thinking that she must have accidentally knocked off her glasses while she was under. Pulling back her fingers she saw that they were wet; she smiled and pushed her glasses up, wiping her eyes.

        “I promise,” she said quietly, just as she had told him a year and a half ago.


	14. Highway

Chapter 14: Highway

_Too many sins to wash away—into the dark and through the rain, together we go_

        The door of the Valentine Detective Agency opened with a thin metallic squeal and Joan peeked inside. It appeared to be empty. Quietly she cursed; she had decided to wait about a week before showing up to give June some time to grieve and now she wasn’t sure if she was here.

        “Should we try Sanctuary Hills, Ma’am?” X6-88 asked over her shoulder. Joan was deliberating whether or not to Relay there when she heard quiet voices from within. She pushed the door open the rest of the way and the two stepped inside. It was stuffy inside the dim and dusty office.

        “Hello?” Joan called out. She heard rustling from the bowels of the office and Nick Valentine rounded the corner. His bright eyes dimmed and his expression turned coolly neutral as he laid eyes on her.

        “Ah. It’s you.”

        Joan bit back an annoyed retort. She was ready to move on with this.

        “Yes, it’s me. I’ve discussed my ideas with the others inside the Institute. We’re serious about working together. Have you and June spoken with the Minutemen?”

        Nick sighed and stepped back, sweeping his arm to invite them into the back of the office.

        “That’s June’s deal; you should talk to her about it. Come on back, she’s here.”

        Joan followed him down a short hallway that led to a small loft. Within it was a bed, a table and a few scattered chairs. June Rockwell was perched at the edge of one of them. Even though the upper half of her face was obscured with her large sunglasses Joan could see the tiredness that lurked below the surface. June looked up at her as she approached and Joan greeted her cautiously.

        “Good morning. I’m here to discuss our… arrangement,” she said. “Have you spoken to your Minutemen about this?”

        June rubbed her temples.

        “Yes, I have. They’re not thrilled about it, but they’re willing to defer to me,” she said. Joan wasn’t entirely sure what to make of her attitude and June sighed.

        “I can see that you kept your end of the deal—the Railroad is still in one piece,” she continued dryly.

        “Of course. The rest of my bargain remains as well. When I’m Director, the Railroad won’t have to worry about the Institute. So long as they stop smuggling our Synths out—”

        June’s head snapped up and her lips were set into a thin line. Joan faltered.

        “The Railroad. So long as we leave each other alone, no one has to worry about anything. We won’t pursue them if they don’t pursue us. Are they interested in helping take down the Brotherhood of Steel? They must also have a vested interest in this,” Joan said, proceeding carefully.

        “No,” June replied firmly, shaking her head. “After everything the Institute has done, they’re not interested. I can’t say that I blame them.” Her expression turned cool again and Joan wriggled her fingers in frustration.

        “Look, there’s no nefarious plan here. In fact I came to extend an offer. We want you to come to the Institute so that you, myself, and Shaun can discuss this. We have nothing to hide. You can bring your…” she hesitated, unsure of how to refer to Nick. He immediately looked slightly uncomfortable.

        “I don’t want to get in the way,” he said quickly. June looked up at him.

        “I won’t ask you to go back there,” she said quietly, looking back down at her hands. She looked sad.

        “Shaun said that he understands if it’s… painful for you to see him. He just wanted to extend the olive branch,” Joan cut in. “It’s your choice.”

        “I want to see him. If he is… dying, then I want to see him. I’d never forgive myself if I didn’t at least say goodbye,” June replied, setting her jaw. Joan was thankful that she seemed to be better restrained today; she felt like she had spent enough time wallowing in tears and misery. She was close, closer than ever, to getting what she wanted. To going back home.

        “This man you mentioned, Preston Garvey, is he able to attend? We’d like to work out some plans. The Brotherhood is extremely well fortified at the Boston Airport; it’s going to take some work to plan it all out. We could use as many hands as we can,” Joan said.

        “Of course,” June replied.

        “I’ll give you a couple days to round some key people up then. When you’re ready, go to the C.I.T ruins. I’ll Relay you in.”

        June and Nick nodded at her in unison.

***

        “Good Lord,” Joan said, looking at the small crowd of people standing in the courtyard of the Commonwealth Institute of Technology. She narrowed her eyes at June.

        “You don’t still have that bomb on you do you? I said to bring some key people, not half the fucking Commonwealth,” she said.

        June seemed brighter today and gave her a nervous smile.

        “You can frisk me if you want, but none of us has anything deadlier than our usual weapons,” she replied.

        “About that,” Joan said, circling June. “I’m going to need those.”

        “ _What_?” June whipped around to face her.

        “Yes, I’m going to confiscate your weapons. Don’t blame me, you’re the ones who were planning to blow up the Institute. We’re not idiots,” Joan said tersely. Truthfully, the people of the Institute were a bit stupid in her opinion; it had been Joan’s idea to disarm the group from the Commonwealth before entering, taking a cue from Caesar.

        “How the hell is that fair?” Nick Valentine interjected. It seemed he would be attending after all. “You all get to keep your guns and weapons and we have to surrender everything?”

        “Yeah,” a man that Joan didn’t recognize piped in. “That’s not cool. You could be like, leading us into a trap for all we know.”

        Joan stepped closer to him, peering up at him through her sunglasses.

        “Who is this?” she demanded.

        The man took a step backward and raised his hands disarmingly. His black hair was slicked back and his eyes were obscured by opaque sunglasses.

        “I’m her assistant.” He nodded at June. She nodded back at him. “I’m totally a Minuteman.”

        “I thought you were going to bring Preston Garvey,” Joan said. Another man stepped forward, wearing a long coat and carrying what looked like an old fashioned musket. He looked warily at Joan before extending his hand for her to shake.

        “Preston Garvey, Miss,” he introduced himself. Joan shook his hand. “That’s… our assistant. Tommy.”

        Joan groaned.

        “Oh for the love of God,” she said, placing her hands on her hips. “Don’t bullshit me. I know a fucking Frume—eh, _spy_ , when I see one. Is he with the Railroad?” She thrust her scarred finger at Tommy, who looked utterly unruffled at this accusation.

        “No, he’s my assistant,” June insisted heatedly, meeting Joan’s narrowed eyes.

        “Nah she’s right. Can’t kid a kidder, right?” Tommy stepped up to Joan and thrust his hand out to shake. Joan looked at it suspiciously.

        “You’re right; I’m not a Minuteman. I’m with Publick Occurrences. So… not technically a spy, but hey, I wasn’t gonna turn down a juicy story. So can I come?”

        “Oh,” Joan said, turning a light shade of pink. She gave his hand a quick pump before pulling back hastily. God, she thought, is this what I’ve become? The fucking Legion has made me so goddamn paranoid that I’m seeing spies everywhere. She cleared her throat and straightened her tie, turning serious again.

        “You know what, that’s fine. I want the Commonwealth to see that the Institute harbors no ill will toward the people on the surface. You still have to turn over any weapons.”

        Tommy nodded at her solemnly before handing over a simple pipe gun; Joan tucked it into the empty sack she had slung over her shoulder.

        “Come on, you’ll get them all back when we’re done,” she said, walking around the group. Nick Valentine begrudgingly turned over a hefty looking revolver; Preston gave up his musket and a small laser pistol. Joan rounded back to June.

        “Come on. You too.”

        June stared at her stonily as a dog trotted out from behind her, wagging its tail.

        “What the—a goddamn dog too? No, you’re not bringing your damn pet,” Joan said scathingly. The dog whined at her and June squared her shoulders.

        “Dogmeat comes or I stay,” she replied heatedly. Tommy leaned down and petted the dog, causing it to wag its tail so thoroughly that its entire rear end shook. Joan rubbed her temples.

        “You know what, fine. Bring your damn dog. I’d probably do the same thing,” she said, thinking of her friends in the Mojave. “Gun. Now,” she repeated, thrusting her open palm out at June, who still stared down at it with contempt.

        “Just give her your gun,” Tommy said, pulling away from the dog. June looked at him and uncertainty crossed her face.

        “It’ll be fine. She’s a lady of her word, right?” he continued, glancing at Joan. She nodded.

        “It’ll be right here in this bag with the others,” she affirmed.

        “You put yours in too, then,” June said, finally drawing her small pistol out from within the folds of her dress. She still held on to it firmly.

        “Fine, I will,” Joan snapped and tugged off her sniper rifle, shoving it awkwardly in the bag. It was too large to fit and most of the barrel protruded. June pursed her lips at her.

        “And your other gun.”

        Joan arched her eyebrows and looked down at her hip where her .45 pistol rested.

        “No,” she said coldly, looking back up at June. “That one stays with me.”

        June flared up, about to respond when Tommy cut her off.

        “Come on, June. Any… prior owners of that gun, they would totally understand that you’re only doing it for a short time and for a very good reason,” Tommy said, staring hard at June. She finally relented and handed the small handgun to Joan.

        “I swear to God if you lose that, or anything happens to it—”

        “I’ll have it on me the entire time,” Joan reassured her. She looked at the time on her Pipboy and grimaced.

        “Is that everyone? Sure you don’t have any dear old grannies to bring along too?” she asked sarcastically. The group nodded at her. Dogmeat wagged his tail again.

        “Alright, good,” Joan said. She cleared her throat before speaking into her Pipboy with distinction.

        “This is Joan. Ready to Relay with… June Rockwell, Nick Valentine, Preston Garvey, Tommy, and… Dogmeat.”

        Electricity cut the air around them and in an instant the C.I.T. courtyard stood empty.

        Joan opened her eyes and stepped neatly out of the Relay. It had taken her more than a month of nearly daily usage, but she had finally acclimated to the jarring sensation of being ripped apart and remade again. The rest of the group did not fare quite as well.

        “Jesus,” Preston Garvey coughed, leaning against Nick Valentine, the only one of the group who appeared to be as unfazed as Joan. Even June sputtered and frantically patted herself down. Tommy performed a perfunctory check of his faculties; he was the first to step out of the room, taking a long look around.

        “Are you okay, boy?” June crouched down and patted Dogmeat. He whined again but seemed otherwise okay.

        “Come on, it’s not that bad, get yourselves together,” Joan commanded, leading the group down the dimly lit hallway that led to the glass elevator. The bag of guns weighed heavily on her hip and she was anxious to get this meeting underway.

        The group crowded into the small elevator; it was a tight squeeze. Joan was mashed against the glass wall and awkwardly smacked the service button with the back of her hand, beginning their descent. After a moment the floor of the elevator lit up, its mouth opening wider and wider until the entirety of the Institute could be seen through the glass walls.

        “Damn. Nice place you’ve got here,” Tommy said, looking out.

        “You alright?” Nick and June were pressed together. She was standing stiff against him.

        “We’ll see,” she replied curtly. Preston Garvey contributed nothing, looking out over the Institute with cool disinterest. Dogmeat’s tail thumped a staccato beat against Joan’s shins.

        God give me strength, she thought.

        After a few minutes the elevator came to a smooth stop at the ground floor of the Institute. Researchers and scientists looked at the group with eager and apprehensive eyes, quickly turning away when any of the group looked back. Joan swept her arm out and led them up the stairs that led to the large conference room the Directorate reserved for themselves. X6-88 met her on the stairs.

        “Good to see you again, Ma’am. I trust they didn’t put up any resistance?” he asked.

        “Wait _what_?” Preston Garvey said, looking alarmed. Joan grimaced before shooting X6-88 a look.

        “God damn it. It’s fine, he just wanted to make sure that you all surrendered your weapons without any issue. Which they did,” she said, turning back to X6-88. He nodded at her. The group didn’t look entirely convinced.

        “Come on, come on,” she said, ushering them up the rest of the pristine white stairwell. X6-88 sped up and opened the conference room door for them and they all filed in. Shaun was seated at the head of the table. Madison Li, Allie Filmore, Clayton Holdren and Justin Ayo sat around him.

        “You’re _late_ ,” Justin commented acidly, tapping his wrist.

        “Is that a _dog_?” Madison said, her eyebrow arched. Allie and Clayton sat quietly, looking uneasy already.

        “Mother,” Shaun said. He sat with his fingers neatly steepled in front of him. The shutters behind his eyes were closed.

        “Shaun,” June replied with equal stiffness.

        June was the first of the group from the Commonwealth to take a seat at the table, smoothing out her long billowy house dress primly. Nick took a seat beside her, Preston seating himself opposite her. Tommy perched in the chair closest to the door as Dogmeat curled up around his feet. Joan quietly closed the door to the conference room and took her place at the far end of the table, opposite Shaun. She cleared her throat.

        “You all know of June Rockwell. With her are Detective Nick Valentine, Preston Garvey, and Tommy the reporter. And Dogmeat,” Joan added as an afterthought. Most of the Directorate stared with naked interest at Nick and June who glared icily back at them.

        “You’re late,” Justin reiterated, sneering at Joan. Shaun raised his hand, silencing him.

        “You have made your point, Doctor Ayo. Joan has worked very hard to bring everyone here today, let us see what there is to be said. This is your show, Joan. Everyone, please refer to her—I am just here to observe.”

        With that, he sat back in his chair and everyone turned to Joan. She cleared her throat again and straightened her tie. She had never before appreciated that House had wrangled the tribes of the Mojave for her; she silently thanked him for at least doing that much. Though she imagined this situation would also be easier if she had a small army of Securitrons to strong arm everyone into doing what she wanted. She resisted letting out a wistful sigh. Soon.

        “Yes. Thank you for attending,” she began. Best to channel Yes Man and try to butter them up with politeness. “I’ll cut directly to the chase—I think it would be in our best interest to forge a bond between the Institute and the Minutemen, to take down our mutual enemy. The Brotherhood of Steel harbors hatred for Synths, Ghouls, and any who are sympathetic to those causes. If they’re left unchecked, I believe they pose a gravely serious threat to the Commonwealth.”

        “Is this really the only way?” Madison Li asked quietly. Joan arched her eyebrow at her. You’re supposed to be on our side, she thought with aggravation.

        “Yes, Doctor Li, I believe that it is. I’ve… personally dealt with the Brotherhood of Steel before. Once they set their sights on a goal, they’re relentless.” Joan thought back to Elijah and wrinkled her nose with disgust.

        “They’re dangerous and very often led by complete madmen,” she continued. “If I thought they could be reasoned with, they’d be here in this conference room with us. But I know that they can’t. They want Institute technology, they want to wipe out the Synths, and once they’ve done that they’ll take everything else they can from the Commonwealth.”

        “Are you sure? You speak about this with a lot of certainty. Do we have any evidence that they’ll do that?” Preston asked, leaning forward in his chair with his hands clasped. Joan withdrew a folder from within her suit and fanned it out on the table. Inside it were a number of photographs, grainy but readable.

        “During the past week I did some reconnaissance on the Brotherhood. They’ve been shaking down local farmers, demanding their produce. They’re planting roots here in the Commonwealth; I don’t think they would bother if they intended to leave anytime soon,” Joan explained.

        “Oh my god,” June gasped, snapping one of the photos up. “That’s Blake and Connie Abernathy!” Nick leaned into her and they inspected the photograph together. Hot red splotches bloomed in June’s face the longer she stared at the photograph. She slapped it down on the table after a moment before crossing her arms. In the photo a man and woman were standing at gunpoint in front of two Paladins. Shielded behind them was a young woman and even in the blurry photo the fear in her eyes was evident. Loud tapping emanated from under the table and June’s leg jiggled up and down erratically.

        “Damn,” Preston murmured, picking up the photo. “That’s… compelling evidence. We’ll need to go check on them as soon as we’re done here. That’s so close to Sanctuary Hills too…”

        “I watched them after the Brotherhood left,” Joan cut in to reassure them. “They seemed to be shaken, but in one piece.”

        “That’s terrible,” Allie commented sympathetically, picking one of the photos up and wrinkling her small nose at it. “All their resources and they’re shaking people down like common thugs.”

        “I think we can all agree that the Brotherhood is a threat, then?” Joan asked, glancing around. A fire of hope lit within her that this meeting would be much shorter than she had anticipated.

        “But what about the Synths?” June asked Joan directly. She tugged at her tie.

        “You already know how the Brotherhood feels about the Sy—”

        “Not them, _you_. You promised me that if we worked together you would treat the Synths better.”

        “Oh good Lord, you act like they’re _people_ ,” Justin said, rolling his eyes. Shaun pressed his lips together as the room exploded into arguing around him. Joan revisited her earlier idea of banishing Justin to the surface.

        “ _Excuse me_!” June slapped her hand on the table and stood up. Justin happened to be sitting closest to her and he shrank down as she towered over him. She thrust her finger into his face.

        “They _are_ people! How dare you!”

        “They deserve to be treated with equality, the same as anyone else,” Preston chimed in. Nick nodded grimly and Tommy was scribbling in a small notepad he had produced from his coat. Joan wanted to bury her head in her hands. She had been so, so close. Shaun directed his gaze from Justin to her and she stood up, banging her small hand on the table.

        “Quiet!” she said fruitlessly. She missed Yes Man—he would have solved this mess with ease with his surprisingly commanding presence.

        “Well they’re not! I think I know a little bit more about them than _you_ do!” Justin barked up at June, still shrunk into his chair.

        “ _Oh, do you_?” Nick replied scathingly, leaning around June to stare at him. Clayton and Allie looked at each other nervously as Madison idly traced a finger around the edge of her drinking glass. June and Justin continued their fight, oblivious to the room around them; the situation was rapidly getting away from Joan. June had raised her hand and looked perilously close to slapping Justin with it.

        “Hey!” Joan shouted, scrambling over the table and diving between June and Justin. Madison jerked away from the table as Joan sent her drinking glass scattering, water splashing onto the pristine white floor. She raised her arm just in time to catch the blow from June’s hand.

        “June!” Nick admonished her. Tommy watched, pinching his lips together and suppressing a smirk. Justin had scrambled out of his chair and was standing, breathing heavily.

        “Oh my god,” June cried, looking down at Joan. Joan was wincing through gritted teeth and screwing her eyes shut. Pain shot up her arm and for a terrible moment she wondered if June had broken it. She extended her arm and grunted with pain.

        “ _Mother_!” Shaun stood up from the table, glaring at June. She shrank away from him.

        “I—I’m sorry,” she said quickly, standing awkwardly as everyone stared at her.

        “It’s… it’s fine,” Joan bit out. X6-88 stepped forward and assisted her off the table as she held her arm out awkwardly. Thank God it’s my left arm, Joan thought bitterly.

        “Joan, go down to the Med Bay, you need to have Dr. Volkert look at that,” Shaun commanded her. “This meeting is over, this was… I don’t know what I thought—”

        “No, I’m fine,” Joan insisted. She strode back to her seat at the opposite head of the table. Shaun looked sharply at her.

        “You said that this was _my_ project,” Joan reminded him heatedly. “This meeting is over when I say it is, and not a fucking minute sooner.”

        Shaun’s eyebrows shot up, but he sat back down in his chair. He stared hawkishly at June.

        “Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” June said, reaching across the table toward Joan, who reflexively jerked away from her. Her lips downturned and she looked sad again.

        “No more. No more outbursts from _you_ , and from _you_ ,” Joan spat, looking at June and Justin respectively. Justin sat back down in his chair. “This is a fucking polite meeting, so act like it! God I swear I’ve seen tribals act more civilized,” she grumbled, straightening her desperado hat with her uninjured arm. June looked down at her lap with shame.

        “I made myself clear. The Synths will be treated with respect when I’m Director. They’ll be paid wages for their work and will be accorded free time like any of the human residents of the Institute. I think that’s fair. Does anyone disagree?” Joan asked sharply, looking around the room.

        “What if they want to leave the Institute?” Tommy asked, speaking for the first time since he had entered the conference room. He stared steadily at Joan.

        “They won’t be permitted to leave. It’s safer for them here than on the surface,” she replied. Tommy jotted something down in his notebook and Joan pursed her lips at him.

        “Perhaps one day, but for now this is what’s in their best interest. Between the Brotherhood of Steel and the rampant paranoia being spread by _your_ newspaper, it’s dangerous for them up there. It’s not going to happen.”

        “Paranoia because the Institute has been replacing people with Synths,” Preston replied, growing terse.

        “The Institute hasn’t done that in a long time. It’s an action I completely disagree with and do not condone,” Joan said. “You have my word that once I’m the Director that won’t be happening anymore.”

        “Well how do we know you’re going to keep your word?” Nick asked her.

        “That is the entire point of this meeting. We want to move forward with the Minutemen. After all, how do we know that you won’t turn around and try to bomb us again? We have to trust. You’re placing faith in us by just coming here and we’re placing faith in you by allowing you here,” Joan said. Preston leaned back and looked at June.

        “It’s up to you, General,” he said. June looked back at him before turning her eyes toward Nick, who gave her a small shrug.

        “They make some good points. I still don’t trust them as far as I can throw ‘em, but… It’s your call,” he said. June shifted her eyes to Tommy.

        “Ball’s in your court, June,” he said. “I’m just here for the news.”

        Finally she turned her gaze to Joan. She fidgeted with the fabric of her dress and Joan could hear her heel tapping against the floor again. Joan sat quietly, determined not to give her anything. She wanted June to arrive at this conclusion herself—any potential fallout from this would land squarely on June’s shoulders and not hers or the Institutes. She rolled her shoulder and repressed a wince at her arm. Her fingers felt stiff.

        “Alright, fine. I’m willing to give it a chance,” June said. She looked up at Shaun. Surprise flashed across his face before disappearing again. He gave her a ghost of a smile; June did not return it.

        “We’ll work together against the Brotherhood of Steel. After that we’ll be monitoring you,” June continued, still staring at him. “I don’t trust you. At all. But I want to give this a try. Now what do you propose we do about the Brotherhood?”

***

        Joan sat in the conference room, watching as X6-88 led the group from the Commonwealth back to the Relay. She had given them their weapons back before they left and was sitting holding her arm out and grinding her teeth.

        “Please, go ahead,” she said to the Directorate. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

        Madison, Clayton, Allie and Justin gathered their papers and filed out, Allie giving her a small reassuring pat on her uninjured arm as she left. Only Shaun remained.

        “You really should go see Dr. Volkert, Joan,” he said quietly. “I know what my mother is capable of.”

        “Yeah she’s got a hell of a swing,” Joan said, rolling her shoulder again and hissing with pain. “Can I just… have a minute? To gather my thoughts?”

        Shaun gave her that warm smile again and stood, gathering himself before sweeping past her.

        “Of course. I know what it’s like to carry the burden of maintaining order. Take all the time you need. Check in with me later, I’d like to make sure you’re alright.”

        He tugged the office door closed behind him. Joan exhaled loudly and clawed into her suit jacket, dragging out her case of Med-X. To the best of her knowledge no one in the Institute was aware of her chem use, not even X6-88, who was by her side nearly constantly. She shoved up the sleeves of her left arm and sighed with pleasure as she injected herself.

        It’s finally settled, she thought, reclining back into her chair and propping her feet up on the conference table. She tucked the empty syringe back into the case and slid it back inside her suit. It had taken a while to come to a conclusion that everyone could tolerate—if not be enthusiastic about—but they had done it. And it had all been her plan, her initiative. She wasn’t happy about Shaun dying, but for the moment it looked like nothing would be in her way when she finally did succeed him. She tucked her hand back inside her suit and ran her scarred finger across the holotape containing Yes Man.

        Soon.


	15. What's the Use of Feeling Blue

Chapter 15: What’s the Use of Feeling Blue

_Let’s make a plan of attack; start looking forward and stop looking back_

Six Years Earlier - 2282

        Cass, Raul, and Joan spilled out of the elevator into the penthouse of the Lucky 38, Cass draped over the other two, quite drunk. The three were alight with laughter and snickering as they regaled each other with the victories and defeats of their afternoon spent gambling at the Gomorrah casino. Raul had won and lost in more or less equal measure, punctuated with bouts of drinking—and unbeknownst to Joan and Cass, a brief visit with one of the working girls—while Cass had been much more preoccupied with the bar than the tables.

        “Can you believe that asshole had the nerve to grab my ass like that? Like really?” Cass brayed. “In _Gomorrah_. Like there weren’t a hundred fuckin’ girls right there!”

        More than a bit tipsy herself, Joan swiped a finger under her eyes with laughter as she nodded at Cass in agreement. Alcohol and Med-X had a unique way of making everything just a bit funnier than usual to her, when it wasn’t making her dull and sleepy.

        “They know better than to mess with the _Boss_ ,” Raul emphasized, waving his decayed hand at Joan. “Clearly you should try wearing all black and looking like you’re one wrong look from shooting someone.”

        “Oh for fuck’s sake,” Joan said, brushing off Raul’s signature sarcasm with a grin. “You see, I was too busy _winning_ for any assholes to make a move on me. Cass probably looked like she had just lost her entire life savings and needed some tender lovin’ care.”

        It had been a standard round of fun on the Strip for Joan. There had been a few stinging losses, but at the end of the day she had walked out of the casino with her pockets weighted down with significantly more caps than she had gone in with. She had already been formally banned by both the Tops and the Ultra Luxe—given the mutinous looks on the faces of the Omertas, she could guess that she wouldn’t be welcome at Gomorrah much longer either.

        “Yeah yeah, brag it up you little smartass—oh, Veronica,” Cass said. The three had passed through the small entry area to the chamber that housed the wall of computers that was Yes Man. Veronica was standing in front of the enormous terminal, and Joan could only see her in profile. Yes Man was smiling down silently; Joan immediately sensed that something was wrong.

        “Veronica?” Joan asked.

        Cass and Raul let go of Joan and she quickly walked down the short staircase while they stood lingering at the top. “Veronica, is something wrong? Did something happen while we were out?” She flicked her eyes up at the volley of monitors, apprehension growing within her.

        “Yes Man, what’s going on here?” she demanded.

        “Ah, well! Your friend—” Yes Man hesitated as he obliged to answer her and Veronica finally spun around to fully face Joan. Her face was raw, red ringed around the eyes and her jaw was set in a way that Joan had never seen before. A slight breeze ushered in unusually cool air from an open door to the wraparound balcony of the penthouse; a light drizzle had started to fall outside.

        “How, I mean just, _how_ , wait no, _why_ —” Veronica sounded unfamiliar and shrill. “I suspected, but I never actually _thought_ you could just…” She was grinding her jaw and Joan took a small step backward, feeling her throat go dry and her fingertips turn icy. The world seemed to shrink around them and she felt claustrophobic.

        “ _You destroyed the Bunker_ ,” Veronica rasped at her.

        Joan squeezed her eyes shut; she had spent weeks dreading the possibility of this happening. She supposed she had always known in the back of her mind that it would eventually come to pass, but it did nothing to lessen the sting.

        “How—” Joan began, opening her eyes again and focusing on Yes Man rather than the look on Veronica’s face. She didn’t think she could have looked at Veronica if Caesar himself had a gun to her head.

        “Of course, of _fucking_ course that’s what you’re focused on!”

        Joan flinched as Veronica threw her arm out at the terminal; her breath caught in her throat as one look at Yes Man confirmed it.

        “I’m so sorry!” Yes Man spoke quickly, “I know it’s not what you would have wanted, but my programming _requires_ that I help anyone who asks for it!”

        Joan was aghast; Yes Man was her one constant, her rock. She thrust out a hand, grasping for something, anything, and found nothing, desperately clawing the empty air.

        “I _had_ to tell Veronica about the day you arrived back from the Happy Trails Caravan expedition—”

        Joan shot Yes Man a sharp warning glare.

        “—and how you told me that we needed to _protect_ the Mojave from the Brotherhood of Steel and anyone else who threatens us. I had to tell her how we went into the Bunker that morning and that you activated their self destruct systems, destroying the Bunker and everyone inside it.”

        Every word felt like sandpaper across her face. Behind her Cass cursed under her breath and Raul let out a low whistle.

        “Veronica I’m—” Desperate to maintain some level of composure, Joan fiddled with her tie, tightening it severely. “Look, I did what I _had_ to—”

        Veronica cut her off, slamming her—blessedly unarmed—hand against the console of terminals.

        “I can’t fucking believe you! Were you ever even going to tell me?” She didn’t wait for a response. “Is this some kind of fucking joke to you? I cried on your shoulder about them!” Her hands were set firmly on her hips now, angrily bunching her scribe robes. By now the shock was wearing off and Joan matched Veronica’s stance, glaring up at her. She shoved her glasses up the bridge of her nose as her face reddened.

        “It wasn’t a fucking joke when they slaughtered the Followers Outpost!” Joan spat. “You and I both know they weren’t saints, Veronica. They butchered those people in cold fucking blood because you even _considered_ defecting from them.” Joan inhaled sharply before continuing. “They were greedy and cared only about themselves, they couldn’t be reasoned with!”

        “So what, that’s what this is? You wanted revenge for your friends?” Veronica faltered and Joan seized on it.

        “My friends? I’m one of their members! And so is Arcade! What the hell would it even matter if they were my _friends_ , they were _innocent people_.” Joan’s tone was much lower and severe now, rage bubbling to the surface as she recalled the horror she experienced that morning when she and Veronica had walked into the Outpost. Blood was spattered on nearly every surface, and the bodies of her colleagues—friends, fellows, companions—were scattered over the floor, terror and pain frozen on their still warm faces. They hadn’t even been able to defend themselves.

        “They did more for humanity than the Brotherhood of Steel _ever_ fucking did,” Joan seethed, clenching her fists.

        “They needed to be convinced to open up!” Veronica threw back. “They didn’t deserve to fucking die! The Paladins that killed the Followers, that wasn’t everyone—do you think Melissa Watkins or Scribe Taggart deserved that?”

        “I—I don’t know who those people are—” Joan stammered before being viciously cut off again by Veronica.

        “No, of course you don’t because you never bothered to get to know them! For better or worse they were my family—and you _murdered_ them, you fucking bitch.” Veronica took a step toward Joan.

        “Whoa hey, let’s just calm down,” Cass interjected as she descended a few steps, holding her liquor surprisingly well in light of the situation. Raul hung back safely at the top of the stairs.

        “You want me to—” Veronica furiously rubbed her temple with the hand that wasn’t gloved in a power fist. “Just, shut the hell up Cass. This isn’t your fight.” Cass took a single step more before Veronica glowered at her. “I’m fucking serious, Cass. This is between me and Joan.”

        “Fine!” Cass threw her hands up, hiking back up the stairs toward the elevator. “Look, whatever you two, just don’t fuckin burn this place down, all my shit is here.” Then, under her breath: “Not that I fucking like this goddamn old world blues bullshit place anyway.”

        “Uh yeah, Boss, me too.” Raul was quickly trailing Cass before the elevator shut. It was just Joan and Veronica now. Yes Man looked down at them, hedgy despite his passive face and silence.

        “Veronica,” Joan started, hoping that the pause in conversation would have lightened things up between them. It hadn’t.

        “Fucking don’t,” she snapped back. Veronica was pacing around the small room looking like a bird trapped in a cage. Joan lamely swung her arms at her sides before matching Veronica, striding uneasily around, her short heels clicking madly on the tiled floor. Within moments they were circling each other.

        “You were my friend,” Veronica broke the silence. There was something undetectable in her voice.

        “You _are_ my friend, Veronica,” Joan replied, hoping to try to deescalate the situation. “Do you think it was easy for me? I know you loved them. It was fucking painful for me to think of you here while I did what had to be done.”

        Veronica abruptly stopped moving, standing squarely to face Joan, her expression incredulous.

        “ _Are you serious_?” Her voice was pitched with exasperation. “You’re making this about _you_ now? What about their pain, their fear?” She lifted her hand, gloved with her power fist, and contemplated it. Joan’s stomach seemed to lift before sharply plummeting and she felt nauseous.

        “Veronica, please,” Joan pleaded as she stopped moving as well. Several beats passed between them and it seemed like a mounting certainty that the argument was about to come to blows. Her fingertips felt like ice once again as raindrops splattered against the windows. Joan thought of the scripture tucked inside the jacket of her suit and prayed to God that things would resolve peacefully. Not that she thought she would stand a chance in hell in a fight against Veronica; she couldn’t bear to draw a weapon against her friend, even in self defense.

        After a long moment Veronica seemed to deflate.

        “I can’t give you what you deserve,” she said. Joan could hear pain through the coldness in Veronica’s voice. “But I can’t stay here. I need to leave.”

        Renewed panic flared in Joan’s stomach and she risked stepping toward Veronica.

        “What, no, this is your home as much as it is mine. Look, just… we just need some time to work this out,” Joan rambled stiffly. Veronica was implacable.

        “No. I have to go,” she said with a terrible air of finality. Briskly she marched past Joan toward the elevator.

        “Wait, please!” Joan could feel her ears burning and she reached out, grasping Veronica’s sleeve.

        “Do _not_ fucking touch me,” she snarled, wrenching her arm away.

        “Veronica, _please don’t go_.” Joan was humiliated by the break in her voice, but pressed on. “I’m sorry. I am. We’ve been through so much together. Please don’t do this.”

        Veronica was already up the staircase and waiting for the elevator; Joan scrambled up the steps after her.

        “You can’t think I can forgive this.” Veronica’s voice was trembling as well as she repeatedly mashed the triangular down button. The moment seemed to suspend itself, frozen in time as the two stared at each other, both faces wrought with anger and sadness. The elevator dinged as the doors parted. There was a heavy pause before Veronica stepped inside, turning to face Joan a final time.

        “… Good luck at the Dam.” For a moment there was no anger, just an aching sorrow on Veronica’s face. The doors slid shut and the elevator hummed to life, descending. Joan stood stunned, staring at the Lucky 38 sigil. There was a horrible rising sensation within her as she numbly walked back down the stairs to collapse into one of the preserved white chairs that studded the room.

        The penthouse felt claustrophic and overwhelming; her face was red, and the corners of her eyes pricked treacherously. Her shoulders hitched and she felt like she was on the verge of hyperventilating; everything inside of Joan seemed to be clenching all at once. She swallowed hard a few times, but she couldn’t fight the inevitable as tears began to stream down her face against her will. She scraped her hands down the front of her skirt, desperate for something, anything to stop this horrible feeling inside her.

        Behind her, one of the glass doors to the balcony slid quietly open; Boone stepped through, his skin dewy and shirt saturated with the rain.

        Joan startled, wrenching her glasses off and furiously rubbing at her eyes while she twisted her torso away from him, concealing as much of her face as possible. To her distress, he sat down opposite her. She had hoped he would obliviously walk past her down to the living quarters. Instead he was a few feet away from her, leaning forward with his hands clasped in front of him while he stared at her. She desperately tried to look at anything but him.

        A long silence passed between the two as Joan tried with varying degrees of success to calm the storm inside her. It was Boone that finally spoke softly into the air between them.

        “I understand.”

        She risked turning her bloodshot eyes toward him and saw empathy on his face. Boone never said much and Joan had found that he never really needed to; he was blunt and to the point, as easy to comprehend as a book if one cared enough to pay attention. Of course he understood, she thought, casting her mind back to when they had first met in Novac; his own mangled friendship, come to a terrible and sad end with Manny Vargas.

        That terrible overwhelming feeling crept up on her once more and though she tried to fight it she couldn’t prevent her face from crumpling again.

        Boone sat with her for a long while as Joan pressed her face tightly into her hands, her small shoulders heaving, voice constricted and raspy as she finally let go. It still felt humiliating, but she trusted that Boone wouldn’t judge her or think any less of her. She was thankful that he didn’t move to console her or try to tell her it would all be better; they were both far too stiffly pragmatic for that. He was content to sit with her as she let it all out and that was more than she could have asked for.

        After what could have been hours or minutes Joan finally began to calm down. She slowly sat upright again and, barring the occasional hitch, she had begun to feel more composed. Boone caught her eye.

        “Do you need some time?” he asked.

        She nodded, not trusting her voice. He stood promptly and made his way to the elevator.

        “I’ll be downstairs.”

        Joan worked her face into something resembling a smile and nodded again. Once he was gone she turned to face the large windows that lined the penthouse suite, the ghost of the smile slipping away.

        Night had fallen. She wondered where Veronica was; she couldn’t possibly be further than Freeside. The rain was drizzling the same as it was earlier, causing the usual mustiness of the suite to turn earthy and alive. Distantly she caught the scent of sage on the air.

        She slipped her glasses back on before standing on wobbly legs. She hated crying, she hated feeling sad. It was unproductive.

        “Yes Man?” she called, stepping into the adjoining room. Her voiced betrayed her with only a small tremor. Despite his ever present smile she sensed nervousness emanating from him.

        “How can I help you?” His voice lacked his usual enthusiasm and cheer. Joan gave him sad half smile.

        “I don’t blame you,” she began. “Veronica suspected it. I just… I never would have guessed that she would ask _you_ about it.” Joan turned inward, contemplating.

        “They do _usually_ ignore me, your friends,” Yes Man said, sounding noticeably uplifted. “I think that they believe what we have is _creepy_.”

        Despite it all Joan chuckled, feeling more at ease than she had in the last couple hours. She began pacing the room.

        “We’re going to have to do something about that,” she said. “It’s not that I don’t trust my friends, but…”

        “Not as much as you trust _me_ ,” Yes Man responded helpfully. She nodded.

        “After this nasty business with Caesar’s Legion is taken care of we can focus on that,” Yes Man said. “I’ve been running some projections; it looks like Legate Lanius is still about one hundred miles out from the Legion controlled side of Hoover Dam. Current estimations have him reaching the Mojave in about a week. It’s up to you of course, but I can always have the Penthouse on lockdown unless you’re in it.”

        “Do you think what I did was right? Regarding the Brotherhood of Steel?” Joan asked abruptly, changing the subject. Yes Man hesitated.

        “Well of course I do! You had two options and only _one_ of them was the correct course of action, so _that’s_ the one you took.”

        Joan shot a look at him.

        “Yes Man.”

        “Well…” Yes Man drawled. “You _could_ have handled it differently. But I’m glad that you didn’t. They weren’t very nice people and they wanted to hoard _all_ the technology for themselves, by any means necessary. Speaking purely analytically it made the most sense to strike at _them_ before they acted on _you_.”

        “Of course. You’re right—thank you, Yes Man,” Joan said, a wave of relief washing over her. It had been cruel, but maybe in time Veronica would see that she only had the Mojave’s greater interests in mind, as Joshua Graham had only had the best interests of the Dead Horses and Sorrows in his heart.

        Daniel had been wrong, she decided; the naked flame that burned within each of them was righteous and justified.


	16. New Blood

Chapter 16: New Blood

_I had to cut a man down to get where I am, but someone had to tumble—and someone had to stand_

        “That’s it, that’s everything we have to give,” Shaun said. He and Joan were standing in the room outside the Relay. He pressed a sack of grenades into her hands.

        “These will teleport a squad of second generation Synths directly to your side. Use them with care, there are only so many. Are you prepared?”

        “Yes,” Joan said. She gave her tie a sharp yank. The room was full almost to bursting with Synths of varying generations, each armed with an array of laser weaponry.

        “I am glad to hear it. I’m quite tired this evening, but I’ll be monitoring your progress from my bed. Please be careful, Joan. I know you’ve put a lot of planning into this but… we have come to rely on you. Come back safely,” he said, placing his hand on her shoulder. She looked down at it and a shadow crossed her face.

        “I promise.”

        She turned away from him and stepped into the Relay. She delivered a series of coordinates and the blue light enveloped her once more.

***

        Nick Valentine and June Rockwell stood outside the East Boston Police station in the gloom of the late evening. Nick glanced skyward, his eyes casting a washed out yellow glow on the underside of the brim of his hat.

        “Almost time for her to show up. You ready for this?”

        “As ready as I’ll ever be. Do you think we’re doing the right thing?” June asked him. He contemplated her for a moment.

        “To be honest? I don’t know. Maybe we’ll never know.”

        June looked down at her shoes.

        “I was worried you’d say that. You… won’t think less of me, will you?” she asked. All she wanted was peace in the Commonwealth. It was true that she was no friend of the Brotherhood of Steel and their prejudices, but in her heart she wasn’t sure that going along with Joan’s idea was right either. Still she couldn’t deny that Joan had a point; she knew they wouldn’t leave. She wished they would just go away, back to wherever they had come from; she knew it was childish and naïve to believe that that would ever happen. At the end of the day, she had made her choice and she would have to live with whatever came of it.

        “After everything we’ve been through together?” Nick asked her. He touched her wrist with his metal fingers before lacing his hand into hers and she twisted to face him.

        “I know you didn’t approve of what happened with Winter, June. But you stuck by my side, for better or worse. I’m with you and nothing’s gonna change that. We’ll face what comes together.”

        Nick favored her with that smile she had grown to love and she squeezed his hand.

        “Then yeah, I’m ready.”

***

        Electricity sizzled in the air a few feet from Nick and June. They held up their hands against the blinding white-blue light that followed after.

        Joan straightened her desperado hat and turned to face them.

        “Ah good, you’re here. Are your Minutemen ready?”

        “At a moment’s notice, yes,” June replied. She withdrew a battered walkie-talkie from her dress.

        “She’s here, Preston. Are we good to go?”

        “Yes General, we’ll start moving in your direction. Does she have her…” he trailed off, leaving only static. June and Nick looked up at Joan.

        “Yes,” she answered, loudly enough for Preston to hear her. “They’ll be Relaying in as soon as I give the word. We’ll see you at the Prydwen.” The radio fizzled into silence.

        “Alright have you two got the power armor?” Joan asked, kneeling and depositing the bag she’d brought with her onto the ground. She rummaged in it as they spoke.

        “Right here,” Nick said, stepping away from the wall of the police station. Two units of power armor stood prepped and polished behind them.

        “Good, good, you got the T-60 models. I hope they weren’t too hard to find,” Joan said as she shrugged out of her suit jacket and began unbuttoning her dress shirt. Nick and June modestly turned away from her as she undressed down to her grey undergarments.

        “Not the shy type, huh?” Nick said, staring out into the darkness of the alley. Joan rolled her eyes.

        “I’ll assume I don’t possess anything you haven’t seen before. It’s practical,” she said, standing straight and zipping up the Scribe jumpsuit she had tugged on. It was a little large on her, but an otherwise good fit. She pulled off her beloved desperado hat and tucked it into the bag before layering a bulky many-pocketed vest on top of her jumpsuit; she thought of Joshua and a small smile crossed her face. Nick and June turned to face her again.

        “I won’t ask how you… acquired that,” Nick said, staring at her with narrowed eyes.

        “Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies,” Joan replied, yanking a cap down over her dark hair. “Don’t get all morally superior on me now, Detective Valentine. Not with what we’re about to do.”

        Joan tucked her usual clothes into the bag and slung it back over her shoulder before tugging the goggles on her hat down over her glasses. She prayed it would be enough; the Brotherhood was likely quite familiar with her by now, after what happened at Mass Fusion.

        “Alright you two, get into the power armor and we’re ready to get started.”

        In unison, Nick and June stepped behind their sets of power armor and tugged open the back panels. In a moment they had stepped in and the suits closed behind them. Joan tilted her head back to look up at them. Despite her short stature she did not ordinarily feel small; she couldn’t help but notice how significantly they towered over her now. Nick turned to face June.

        “I always did wonder what you’d look like as a robot,” he said, and Joan could hear the playful tone in his voice despite the muffling from the helmet. She fought the urge to roll her eyes again.

        “You don’t look too bad yourself, Nick. I feel like we’re about to storm Anchorage,” June replied with a giggle.

        “Alright, let’s get moving,” Joan interrupted them, her fingers growing cold. Every moment spent with them made her desperately miss home. She missed having friends to banter with, to care about her and wish her well. Soon soon soon, she thought to herself.

        “Isn’t your Pipboy going to be unusual?” Nick asked, turning to face her. Joan faltered and looked down at it.

        “Fuck,” she said. He made a very good point—she had only ever encountered one member of the Brotherhood of Steel who had worn a Pipboy and he hadn’t exactly been part of their group at the time. She bit her lip.

        “We’ll have to make do,” she said. She couldn’t afford to take it off—it was her only line of communication to the Institute.

        “It’ll be fine,” June interjected. “You and I are Paladins, Nick. We can back her up. Joan, you stay behind us, we’ll take the lead. If anyone asks, we’ll tell them that we… that we requisitioned it from Vault 81.”

        Nick turned his helmet toward her.

        “Glad you’re on our side. You came up with that a little too fast,” he said, his tone morbidly impressed. June shrugged her enormous armored shoulders at him.

        “What? That seems like something they would do.”

        “She’s right,” Joan said, ushering them forward with her hands. “That is _exactly_ what they would do, and don’t forget it. Stop fucking around, let’s get this over with.”

        The two began their short walk to the Boston Airport, trudging through the muddy waters of Boston’s East Side. Joan checked the multitude of pockets that lined her vest. Relay grenades, her combat knife, spare ammo. At her hip was her .45 pistol. Her trusty sniper rifle was back at the Institute; she knew she would be far too recognizable with it strapped to her back.

        After a short while they arrived at the edge of the Boston airport. Joan slowed to walk behind Nick and June, lagging submissively behind them. She tried to keep her arm close to her side, holding the screen of her Pipboy against her hip. They approached a couple of Brotherhood Paladins standing guard outside of a large training ground. They were grumbling about the food being served in the mess hall and seemed utterly unconcerned with the trio as they passed through. As soon as they were out of earshot Joan sped up, walking just behind them.

        “I’ve been watching them for the past couple weeks. They enter and exit the airship through a vertibird; that’s our ticket inside. You two ready?”

        “As I’ll ever be,” June replied. She sounded apprehensive now that they were close.

        “Good. I’ve got the explosives. Give me enough time to get them planted, we Relay out, boom, we’re done. Easy peasy,” Joan said.

        “If everything goes right,” Nick said skeptically.

        “We’re prepared for that. You two just make sure no one pays too much attention to me,” Joan replied. She slowed again as they approached the vertibird that would carry them up to the Prydwen. A Scribe was sitting inside it, looking completely bored.

        “Can you take us up?” June asked him politely.

        “Sure thing, just gotta check you in,” he replied, pulling a clipboard from the floor of the cockpit. He squinted at it for a moment.

        “Recon Squad Audax?” he said. Nick nodded.

        “That’s us,” he agreed. Joan nodded behind him, grateful that the Brotherhood was as trusting as they were. It was a marked improvement—for her, anyway—from their former Mojave branch.

        “Alright, get on inside, I’ll have you up in a minute,” the Scribe said, pushing a few buttons on the console. The vertibird came to life, its great rotors spinning and roaring. June, Nick and Joan hopped on board. Joan had only been in a vertibird once, with Arcade back in the Mojave. She had loved it and instantly understood the Boomer’s fixation with the skies. A similar thrill swept through her as they pulled away from the ground.

         June tossed her head, looking nervous even under her power armor. Nick reached out and laid his armored hand on hers, giving her a brief squeeze.

        “I’m here,” he said quietly to her. Joan averted her eyes and crossed her arms, mindlessly scrubbing her arm with her scarred forefinger.

        The flight was brief and all too soon they had docked. June was the first to exit the vertibird, scrambling heavily out onto the deck. Nick jumped down beside her and Joan looked quickly around. The deck was devoid of people, though she could spy two Paladins standing guard near what she assumed was the entrance to the Prydwen. They were distant, but still too close for comfort. Her fingers skated over the pistol on her hip, passing over it and instead seeking out one of the pockets of her vest. Within it was a length of rope.

        “You alright back there?” the Scribe asked her.

        “Yes, I just get a little motion sick,” she said, snaking the rope out and looping it taut between her hands.

        “I gotcha,” he said. “I used to get that too before they stuck me with thi—” He gasped as Joan threw her arms around his head, garroting him with the rope. Nick and June startled. Joan yanked back hard on the ends of the rope, pressing her feet against the back of the seat the Scribe was sitting in for leverage. He flailed around her, desperately clawing at his throat.

        “Jesus Christ,” Nick breathed. Joan pulled back on the rope with all the strength she could muster, breathing heavily. The Scribe’s movements grew slow and sluggish after a few torturous minutes until he finally went slack.

        “Was that really necessary?” Nick asked her sharply. Joan finally relaxed, the muscles in her arms twitching and aching. She gently leaned the Scribe forward, arranging his arms against the console of the vertibird and resting his head on them.

        “Yes,” she snapped, tucking the rope back into her vest pocket. “I don’t want him bringing any reinforcements or trying to fly away if something goes amiss. It had to be done.” She turned to face Nick and June, narrowing her eyes at them.

        “Are you two getting cold feet? You know _why_ we’re here, right? Because it isn’t to fucking play poker,” she hissed. “This is an extermination.”

        “That doesn’t mean we have to enjoy it,” June threw back at her. Joan closed her eyes and took a steadying breath before opening them again.

        “I _don’t_ enjoy it—but I am willing to do whatever is necessary.”

        Nick and June parted as Joan hopped down out of the vertibird. Even under the power armor she could tell they were displeased, but still they proceeded forward.

        “What’s up with Scribe Everett?” One of the Paladins was tilting her head, looking around the three as they approached the entrance of the Prydwen.

        “He’s got motion sickness,” Joan replied. The Brotherhood certainly seemed to be skilled in providing good cover stories at least, she thought.

        “Ah yeah, he used to complain about that a lot,” the Paladin agreed.

        “Yeah, you should leave him alone for a while, he said it was pretty bad this time,” Joan said as they passed through. The Paladin nodded and they entered the airship.

        As soon as they entered Joan scanned the area. It seemed they were just below the actual airship, in a sort of viewing dock. Brotherhood members milled around a tall man in a long coat. Joan strode past them all, to a ladder.

        “Here,” she said quietly. Nick and June followed her up and they entered the heart of the Prydwen.

        “This looks much more promising,” she whispered to June, who bent to hear her. They had surfaced in what looked to be a cafeteria.

        “How do you know where to go?” she asked.

        “I don’t.” Joan pushed through the rest of the mess hall. Once the trio was in comparative solitude again, she looked at her Pipboy. It contained a great number of maps, but showed nothing of the Prydwen that they hadn’t already been through. She sighed.

        “Time to explore.”

        The three spent a good hour sweeping the Prydwen, Joan skirting around behind Nick and June when anyone approached too close. Fortunately in the late hour most of the soldiers were bunked up in their quarters, oblivious to them. Nick and June made a solid wall of metal for Joan to crouch behind as she tucked explosives through the ship. She initially contemplated finding the ships power source or reactor, but decided against that plan—it would likely be located far away from the dock that led to the vertibirds and she didn’t want to risk fighting her way out of a potential death trap. The Prydwen was supported by hydrogen; any minor explosion should be enough to send it crashing into the harbor, and Joan wanted to be far, far away when that happened.

        “Are you almost done? How many of those damn things do you need to put down?” Nick bent and said quietly to her. She was tucking a satchel charge behind the counter of the now empty mess hall.

        “God willing, this will be enough. Let’s get the hell out of here,” she said, straightening.

        “Thank God, I just want this to be over with,” June said, pulling away.

        “What was that, Paladin?”

        June stiffened and turned. A man in power armor was standing behind them, his helmet tucked beneath his arm. He was staring at them intently and Joan’s hand flew to her hip.

        “It’s—it’s nothing, I’m just not feeling very well,” June faltered. The man took a heavy step toward her.

        “Who are you?” he asked. He looked deeply suspicious, his thick black brows heavy on his solemn face.

        “P-Paladin, um, Rockwell,” she said, taking a step back. The man immediately stiffened and inhaled.

        “ _Shit_ ,” Joan spat, drawing her pistol and shooting the man in the head. June squealed and jumped away from him as he collapsed to the ground, bleeding from the bullet wound over his eye. The gunshot had been deafening in the close quarters of the airship and Joan could immediately detect the heavy sounds of power armor clad footsteps overhead.

        “It’s time to go!” Joan cried, charging past the dead man with Nick and June hot on her heels.

        “Why the hell did you shoot him?” Nick demanded as they ran back to the ladder that led down to the viewing dock. Joan kept her pistol out as she ran, the metal heavy in her hand.

        “He was onto us.”

        “Well now they all are!” Nick barked back. They began clambering down the ladder.

        “I’m doing the goddamn best I can!” Joan shrieked as they descended. Once they were back outside she would be able to radio to the Institute and Relay back to the ground. The viewing dock was empty at this hour and Joan thanked God for that much at least; above them she could already hear angry screaming and more thunderous footfalls. The three pushed out into the open air and Joan inhaled deeply.

        “What’s going on in there?” The same Paladin was standing guard and she blanched at their quick exit.

        “Someone’s been hurt inside!” June cried at her. “You’ve got to go help them!” The Paladin jumped and rushed past them, the other guard following her with haste. Nick turned to June.

        “I really don’t like how good you are at this,” he said tersely.

        “We’ve committed to this Nick, now isn’t the time!” she shot back at him as they ran further down the dock. Finally Joan stopped and drew her Pipboy up to her face.

        “This is Joan—ready to Relay with Nick Valentine and June Rockwell!”

        Nothing happened.

        Panic shot up within Joan and she slapped her Pipboy.

        “Relay, Relay! This is Joan, do you hear me!”

        Finally a transmission was received, coming in broken and static.

        “Ma’am! This is X6-88, I have bad news. The Brotherhood of Steel has a—a field of some kind around the Boston Airport. We’re unable to Relay in. Can you try one of the Relay grenades?”

        “Shit!” Joan cursed, snapping open one of the pouches on her vest. She turned and hurled the grenade at the ground beside them. It rolled away innocently.

        “I thought you had this planned!” June cried. Joan’s fingers were icy and she breathed heavily.

        “How the hell was I supposed to know they had some kind of anti teleportation field!” Joan snapped. June withdrew her walkie-talkie out and barked into it.

        “Preston! Are you there?”

        “Yes, General! Is something wrong?”

        “Yes, we can’t Relay out! The Brotherhood has some kind of field that’s jamming the signal. We need you at the base of the Airport, now!”

        “Affirmative, General. Ronnie, push in!” The radio fizzled out. Below them a huge dark mass moved in from the outer edges of the airport and Joan gasped. The Minutemen were pouring in; she knew that June had built them up from nearly nothing, but she’d had no idea how great they were in number.

        “Jesus, that must be half the fucking Commonwealth,” she whispered, looking down at them. Gunfire was breaking out beneath them, loud even as high up as they were in the sky.

        “I’ve been busy helping people while you were working for the Institute,” June replied coldly. Joan narrowed her eyes at her, on the verge of replying when the door of the Prydwen slammed open. The man from the viewing dock charged out, accompanied by several armed Paladins. Despite everything, Nick and June immediately stood shoulder to shoulder in front of Joan, shielding her from view.

        “You!” the man in the coat roared, drawing his weapon up at them. June twisted around and looked at Joan.

        “Hold on!” she shouted.

        Joan felt her stomach jump as June swept her up into her arms, clutching her tightly against her chest.

        “What are you—AAAAAGH!” Joan screamed as biting cold air whipped around her. June had leaped from the deck of the Prydwen and had her arms wrapped protectively around her, crushing her close. Joan scrambled desperately as they plummeted through the air, shocked with terror.

        The fall seemed to last a lifetime; falling, falling into the darkness. She screamed again, the icy air feeling like fire around her.

        Joan’s teeth rattled in her skull as they slammed into the ground, the earth shaking around them. Nick landed a second later with a resounding boom.

        “Jesus!” he groaned, sounding rattled. June was panting and she tried to pull away from Joan, who was latched tightly around her, clinging to her. She shrieked again and June flinched.

        “It’s okay, it’s okay! I’ve got you!” she said, wrapping her arms around Joan again, not tightly but in a hug, as best as she could muster with the armor. Joan was trembling beneath her touch.

        “I’m burning, I’m burning,” she cried, shivering as sweat poured down her brow. Nick yanked off the helmet of his power armor before stepping backward out of it, disengaging.

        “Good God, kid, are you alright?” he said, concern softening his usual coolness toward her. He gently brushed her shoulder with his skinned hand. She jumped at the touch.

        “ _Please help me_ ,” she whispered, her face buried into June’s chest plate. June released her and reached up with her free hand, tugging her helmet off. Joan shivered again, her eyes squeezed shut. She was panting, nearly hyperventilating.

        “ _Joan_ ,” June said authoritatively, her voice unmuffled now. Joan stilled.

        “We aren’t done yet, Joan. There’s still a lot of work to do. I know you’re scared, but you need to hold it together, just for now.”

        Joan craned her head up and finally looked at June. She was looking down at her and there was no trace of animosity on her face, just stern resolve. Her terror finally ebbed away. Stiffly she crawled out of June’s arms and stood on the ground. As if someone had turned the volume up, the sounds of shouting and gunfire burst in the air around them. Joan took a shaky breath.

        “Thank you. I needed to hear that,” she said. She threw off the Scribes cap and goggles she wore and scrambled out of the vest, suddenly desperate to feel like herself again.

        “Wha— _now_?” Nick asked her incredulously as she unzipped the Scribe’s jumpsuit, tearing it off and casting it aside. She knelt and buried her hands in her pack and seized her neatly folded suit, tugging her collared shirt on and hoisting her skirt up over it.

        “Yes,” she said, yanking her necktie tightly. Finally she shoved her desperado hat back on. The coldness in her fingers finally abated. While she was dressing June had stepped backward out of her own power armor, pulling her small pistol out from her dress once again.

        “Nick is right, we’ve got bigger concerns,” she said. Joan looked around.

        A battle, one to rival perhaps that of Hoover Dam, had broken out at the base of the Prydwen. Laser gunfire zigzagged through the air, cutting through it in bold red arcs. It would have made a dazzling lightshow if circumstances hadn’t been so dire.

        “Ma’am!” Joan’s Pipboy came to life again. She held it up to her face.

        “Yes, X6-88, can you read me?”

        “Yes, Ma’am. We’re almost there, we Relayed the troops in just outside the Airport. Are you safe?” Joan smiled down at the Pipboy. She didn’t feel so alone now.

        “Yes, thank you. We jumped off the Prydwen.”

        “God damn,” X6-88 murmured through the static. “I’ll be by your side soon, Ma’am.” The Pipboy went quiet.

        “We need to start moving your Minutemen out of here,” Joan said as they started running through the crowd, dashing through gunfire. Joan had her pistol out, blindly firing shots at unprotected Scribes when she could, managing to nail a few of them. June picked her radio back up.

        “We’re out of the airship, Preston. Start moving them out, we’re going to detonate soon,” she said, jogging steadily. Joan envied her as sweat poured down her brow.

        “Yes, General,” he replied, sounding harrowed but safe.

        “Ma’am!” A familiar voice pierced the crowd and Joan looked up. Charging at her was X6-88, running at full tilt. She grinned and ran at him.

        “I’ve never been so happy to see you in my life,” she said, skidding to a stop in front of him. He gave her a rare smile.

        “The Institute is here, Ma’am.”

        Behind him poured synths of all generations, stampeding into the throng of people. Joan watched them in awe. Peppered among them were coursers, and they were making short work of the Paladins on the ground, collapsing them in electric bursts of laser gunfire.

        “Good lord,” Nick muttered, taking them all in. “You sure you needed the Minutemen’s help?”

        “This is about more than the Brotherhood,” Joan said, turning to face him and June. She spread her arms out wide in the chaos.

        “This is about fostering a future peace between the people of the Commonwealth. I don’t want the region to be locked in a civil war after I leave.”

        “ _After you leave_?” June asked her sharply. Joan faltered.

        “I have to go back—back where I came from… eventually,” she said stiffly. Gunfire ricocheted past them and June planted her hands on her hips.

        “You said you’re going to be the Director! How the hell are you going to uphold your end of the bargain if you’re not actually here!” Laser fire shot past June’s head and she didn’t even flinch.

        “Is now really the time?” Joan asked her, regretting opening her stupid mouth in the first place.

        “We’ll discuss this later,” Nick said coldly, drawing his own revolver and firing into the crowd. “I didn’t survive a hundred damn years to be crushed to death by a blimp.”

        “Right,” June said, frustrated. She picked her radio back up.

        “Preston, how are we coming with the Minutemen moving out?”

        “You’re good to go, General!”

        “Then let’s move people!” Joan shouted and the four tore off for the outer edge of the airport. They ran and ran, Joan managing to keep up despite her short legs and human lungs. As soon as they were past the edge of the Airport her Pipboy sparked to life again.

        “Good news, Miss.” It was one of the second generation Synths. “The machines generating the anti-teleportation field have been disabled. You are free to Relay now.”

        “Oh thank God,” Joan groaned, coming to a shuddery stop. She bent double, planting her palms on her knees and panting. Nick, June and X6-88 stood cool and poised beside her. Lucky bastards, she thought enviously. After a moment she straightened and pulled out the detonator.

        “Institute Synths, Relay out, now!” she called into her Pipboy. Distantly she could see electric bolts of energy shooting into the air and further cries from the Brotherhood of Steel, confusion ringing in the air. Joan pressed the large red button on the detonator.

        A low rumbling seemed to emit from the Prydwen and they watched it as it seemed to shudder for a moment in midair before explosions erupted out, shooting enormous jets of fire out into the darkness. Explosion after explosion detonated down the length of it, raining fire and chunks of metal down over the airport. Nick and June moved closer to each other, threading their hands together. Joan mindlessly tucked her hand into her suit, running her scarred finger over her bible.

        The Prydwen sagged in the air before turning its nose down, falling further and further before the hydrogen burst with a deafening boom. The group flinched backward and raised their arms defensively as a wall of hot air rushed at them.

        “Good Lord,” Joan said, watching as the Prydwen began its final descent, crashing into the airport. The ground below them shook with the impact and Joan thrust her hand out, catching X6-88’s sleeve for balance.

        “You’re very lucky, Ma’am,” X6-88 said as they watched the burning airship consume the airport. “We received information about an enormous robot called Liberty Prime shortly after you left. We could have defeated it, but it’s highly unlikely that you would have survived the encounter.”

        Joan whistled.

        “Well… it wouldn’t have been the first time,” she said. June turned to face her.

        “So, about you leaving,” she said bluntly. Joan held up her hand.

        “I’ve got to go debrief with the Directorate. We can discuss this another time.”

        June shut her mouth again, pursing her lips.

        “Fine. I should go do the same. But we _will_ be discussing this, and soon,” she said. She and Nick departed without any further word, leaving Joan and X6-88 alone. Joan rolled her shoulders.

        “Are you alright, Ma’am?” X6-88 asked, looking down at her. She exhaled deeply. The Brotherhood had been destroyed again, bringing her that much closer to her ultimate goal; the destruction of the Legion.

        “I am. I actually feel pretty good,” she said, looking out over the flaming wreckage. X6-88 stepped close to her and spoke into the air, calling them back to the Institute.

_Hopefully one day you’ll understand, Veronica. Everything I’ve ever done has been for the greater good._


	17. Breaking Down

Chapter 17: Breaking Down

_All alone, it was always there you see—and even on my own, it was always standing next to me_

        As soon as Joan and X6-88 entered the Relay room she could tell something was wrong; Allie Filmore was waiting for her by the console, her eyes red. The warmth that had flooded her fingers only moments before dissipated, replaced with icy nervousness.

        “What’s wrong,” she asked quickly, approaching her. Allie pressed her hand over the upper half of her face and her lip trembled below it. Panic flared within Joan and she fought the urge to shake her.

        “What is it?” she asked again, her voice growing shrill.

        “You need to go see Father. Right away.”

        Joan felt as though the wind had been knocked out of her. The joy of her success and victory evaporated. She tore past Allie and dashed to the elevator, X6-88 following quickly behind her. She mashed the button, her heart feeling as though it were close to drumming out of her chest.

        The elevator descended slowly and Joan nervously rapped on her Pipboy, staring out over the Institute. X6-88 seemed to gaze through the walls, his expression bleakly distant. Joan twisted her face away and swallowed.

        “You don’t think he’s…” she trailed off, unable to bring herself to continue. X6-88 looked at the glass floor and did not respond. Joan chewed her lip, her stomach dropping. After a long moment the elevator came to its smooth stop and Joan and X6-88 quickly stepped out, jogging up the staircase to Shaun’s quarters. She threw open the door without knocking.

        She gasped. Shaun was lying in his bed and he looked so much worse than he had when she had last seen him, mere hours ago. He was smiling at her despite the fatigue and the sallow paleness that had consumed his face. Joan raced to his bedside and seized his hand.

        “Shaun, are you—”

        “Yes, Joan. It is almost time now,” he said calmly. Her stomach clenched in on itself like a fist and she blinked furiously.

        “You don’t know that, you—you’re just tired,” she said, clutching his hand between her own. He rubbed her fingers gently, skating over the scarred skin of her forefinger.

        “You don’t have to fight everything, Joan,” he began. “Especially not the inevitable. This has been a long time coming. I’m just happy that I’ve found a worthy replacement. I heard about your work at the Boston Airport; I am proud of you.”

        Joan shuddered and cringed at the tears that began to slide down her face. She bent her head, pressing her palm against her eyes and her shoulders shook. The tiredness that had threatened to consume her before she went to the Memory Den came surging back in a tidal wave and she couldn’t fight it any longer.

        “I can’t do this anymore,” she cried. Shaun tilted his head, looking at her with concern.

        “What is wrong?” he asked her. He chucked his hand under her chin and brought her up to face him again. Tears streamed down her face and she tugged off her glasses to wipe at her eyes, her chin wrinkling.

        “Shaun… I have to tell you something.”

        The concern on Shaun’s face shifted into worry. Joan pressed her face into her hands. She was so tired. She missed home; the Institute wasn’t her home, no matter how much Shaun wanted it to be. She couldn’t bear to lie to him anymore.

        He deserved better.

        “I’m… I’m not what you think I am,” she began. She took in a shaky breath and squared her shoulders and sat up straight, determined to face him. He looked alarmed now and she clenched her hands together nervously.

        “I’m not just someone that was interested in the Institute, Shaun. I’ve traveled a very, _very_ long way to find you. I’m from a city out west, in the Mojave Desert. New Vegas.”

        Shaun stared blankly at her.

        “I—I don’t know what that is,” he said. “But, if you’re not interested in the Institute, then why, why _are_ you here?” Suspicion began to take root in his worn and tired features. She proceeded, speaking quickly.

        “Please, I don’t mean any ill will for the Institute. There’s a threat out west, one that you can’t even begin to imagine,” she said. “The Legion, Caesar’s Legion. Have you ever heard of them?”

        Shaun shook his head at her, still looking bewildered and Joan inhaled.

        “They’re _bad_ , Shaun. Whatever you think the people of the Commonwealth have done that’s immoral, or wrong, or sinful, the Legion has done worse, far worse. They’re slavers, rapists, they destroy entire towns, enslaving or murdering the men and taking their women to use as cattle.” She paused, drawing in another shaky breath.

        “I’m the leader of New Vegas, Shaun. And I’ve been trying to defend the Mojave from the Legion for more than five years now. I almost beat them back a few years ago, but… but it wasn’t enough. I need an army. When I caught wind that there was a place out here that could manufacture people, I…” she trailed off, staring at him. Shaun’s mouth hung open.

        “You… You mean to tell me that you have been _using_ me—the Institute?” he said. The thin tremor in his voice stabbed at Joan, cutting into her deeply. Joan reached for his hand and he yanked it back from her.

        “Shaun, please,” she begged, leaning toward him. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to lie to you, but I had to make sure I could gain your trust. I… I never expected you to name me as your successor. But I’m doing this for a greater purpose.”

        Shaun narrowed his eyes at her, his expression still pained.

        “And what, to preserve a _plot of land_?” he rasped. Joan seized his hand in both of hers.

        “No. I don’t care about the land of Vegas at all. I care about the _people_. I care about the people _here_. The man who calls himself Caesar, he wants to take Vegas so that he can establish himself. When he does that, he won’t be able to move further west; he’ll start branching out east.”

        Shaun’s eyebrows rose and the tension bled from his expression, replaced with worry and alarm.

        “I’ve known about the New England Commonwealth for years, Shaun. There’s absolutely no way he’s unaware of it. That man, Caesar, he’s a terrifyingly good spy; his entire Legion is founded on them. When he’s done with Vegas, he’ll absolutely set his sights east. And he won’t want to take your technology; he’ll destroy it. His Legion will crush you, unless I can move on him now. If he puts down roots in the Mojave, begins to establish his Legion and fortify… you won’t be able to stop them. The Brotherhood of Steel in the Midwest, they won’t stand a chance either.”

        Joan exhaled painfully, looking down at Shaun’s bedspread as she let his hand go.

        “Why… Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?” Shaun asked her. She snapped her head back up to look at him. The coldness behind his eyes had been replaced with cautious acceptance.

        “I’m sorry. Like I said, the Legion has spies everywhere; it’s not unconceivable some could have even followed me out here. I couldn’t risk anyone knowing. I’m just… I’m so sorry, Shaun.” She leaned forward, resting her forehead against his warm bedspread, fatigue washing over her.

        “I understand if you hate me. But I’m doing what I have to. The Legion must be destroyed, at any and all costs,” she murmured. Shaun sighed.

        “Are they really as bad as you say?” he asked. Joan picked her head up and looked at him, meeting his eyes squarely.

        “And worse. They crucify people. They torture, they maim. They play with their food before they eat it. My good friend, his pregnant wife was taken from him in the night; they sold her at auction. They strap these… these collars to their slaves, that are rigged to explode if they leave a certain radius. I met a man once who had his legs beaten to a pulp with hammers, and they just left him alone to die of his wounds. And the things they do to women… Shaun. There is no atrocity that’s beneath them.”

        Shaun’s brows creased together with worry and he looked down at Joan’s hands. After a moment his face relaxed and he bit out a small dry chuckle.

        “And you’re the leader of New Vegas? Well… at least I know my instincts weren’t totally wrong...”

        Joan smiled ruefully at him before Shaun leaned back on his bed, his pale face souring. Joan shot forward, seizing his hand again.

        “I’m alright, Joan. For now, anyway. So… what do you mean to do?”

        “I’m going to go back west and take the fight to the Legion. It’ll take me some time to recreate the machine that makes the Synths, but I think I’m up to the task,” she said. Shaun looked away from her, through the window that overlooked the Institute.

        “So… your position as my successor,” he said.

        “I know my… word might not count for much now, but I think Allie Filmore would do well in my place,” Joan said.

        “I’d still like it to be you,” Shaun pressed. Joan faltered.

        “I… I have to leave. Very soon.”

        “I know you do, Joan. And certainly Allie can act in your place. But I would still like for you to formally take the mantle. Perhaps one day you’ll return, after you’re done saving the Mojave.” Shaun turned to face her and smiled sadly at her.

        “I won’t make any promises that I can’t keep. But I can do my best. At least you won’t have to fear the Legion knocking on your door,” Joan replied, reaching out and taking his hand again. Shaun closed his eyes as she continued.

        “I know you see the world the same way that I do, Shaun. You’ve always looked at the bigger picture. I hope you can understand me when I say that I’ve never tried to hurt you; I’m just trying to do what’s right, for everyone.”

        “I do understand, Joan. As I said before; I understand the burden of leadership. After all… why do you think they call me Father,” Shaun said quietly, his face turning dull and ashen. Joan pressed her lips together as a fresh flood of tears cascaded down her face.

        “I’ll miss you, Shaun. Goodbye.”

        Joan sat with him for a long time, his hand growing cool in hers. After a while X6-88 stepped close to her and laid his hand on her shoulder.

        “Is everything you just said true?”

        “Yes.” She bit her lip again, her cheeks tacky with slowly drying tears.

        “Then I’m proud to serve you, Ma’am.”

        Joan turned to face him, her eyebrows arched in surprise.

        “Thank you,” she said. He looked down at her and removed his sunglasses, rubbing at his own eyes briefly before putting them back on.

        “Father always spoke very highly of you. I’m glad to see that his faith was not misplaced.”

        Joan stood, her legs shaky.

        “I’m not done just yet—I hope you’ll still feel the same way once I am.”


	18. Sinners

Chapter 18: Sinners

_Fortune fortune, smiling fate; I haven’t seen you much of late_

        Joan was seated at the head of the conference table, the Directorate sitting around her. Allie’s eyes were stained red and swollen. Madison and Clayton looked worn and tired. Even Justin Ayo was subdued, sitting silently in his chair. Close to the door was one of the second generation Synths, quietly mopping the floor.

        “As you all know, Father has passed,” she said. Her legs were crossed neatly and she had a terminal hooked up in front of her. The Directorate nodded at her solemnly and Joan slipped her hand into her suit jacket. A small pang of remorse gnawed at her; there was one crucial part of her plan that she had concealed from Shaun. It had been an enormous weight off her shoulders to finally be honest with him in the end, but she couldn’t risk telling him everything. Still, a small flame stirred inside her and she couldn’t help but feel a touch of excitement—it was finally time.

        She slid the holotape out of her jacket and the Directorate looked at it curiously.

        “Then you know that I am the Director now,” she continued. They nodded at her again. Justin’s brows furrowed together. Joan slid the holotape into the terminal in front of her.

        “It’s _good_ to see you again, Ma’am!”

        The Directorate bent forward in unison.

        “What the hell is that,” Justin Ayo said, looking alarmed. A small smile crossed Joan’s face and she leaned toward the terminal screen.

        “It’s wonderful to see you too, Yes Man. I’ve missed you very much.”

        “I’ve _really_ missed you too! Even though we just spoke!” he replied cheerfully. “Are you finally at the Institute now?”

        “Yes I am. Do your thing, Yes Man.” Joan leaned back in her chair, lifting her arms and lacing her hands behind her head. There was much work to be done; she would mourn Shaun later, she thought, closing the door on those emotions and letting the flame inside grow brighter.

        “Yes, Ma’am!” Yes Man whirred into action. The lights in the Institute buzzed and flickered and Justin and Madison scrambled from their chairs, looking at the terminal.

        “What have you just done?” Madison asked sharply. Clayton also stood up and was standing with his hands pressed against the windows of the conference room.

        “Oh my god,” he murmured, staring out. Joan spun around in her chair and looked out over the Institute. Scientists were tossing their heads shock. Every available monitor and screen in the Institute was now flashing brilliantly with Yes Man’s face, looking down over all of them.

        “This reminds me of Hoover Dam,” Yes Man gushed, his voice echoing throughout the entire compound.

        “You certainly know how to put on a display,” Joan said, matching his wide smile. Justin Ayo roughly grabbed her arm and spun her back around. She looked up at him through her sunglasses, still grinning, feeling suddenly giddy. It was done—she was no one’s Yes Woman, not anymore.

        “What the _hell_ have you just done!” he spat at her, his face turning dark red.

        “Ah-ah, temper, Justin,” Joan smirked up at him. “Yes Man?”

        The second generation Synth in the room with them dropped its mop with a clatter and turned to face them, its skeletal face abruptly fixing into a grin.

        “Wow, these things are _really_ nice, Ma’am! So this is what it feels like to have hands!” The Synth held up its fingers, looking at them in amazement. Justin gasped, his grip on Joan’s arm digging in sharply enough that she gritted her teeth despite her grin. The Yes Man Synth turned to Joan and Justin Ayo. Madison and Clayton watched on with horror and Allie was staring at them with her red eyes wide.

        “That’s not very _nice_ , sir,” Yes Man said politely menacingly, looking directly at Justin as he advanced on them. Justin immediately released Joan and jumped away from her. Joan stepped out of her chair and looked out over the Institute.

        “All of you, take a good look,” Joan said, gesturing to the window. The Directorate stood, looking out onto the heart of the Institute: every single visible generation one and two Synth was standing and facing the conference room. Joan lifted her hand and gave them a small wave which they eagerly returned en masse. Madison gasped.

        “ _What have you done_?” she asked, jerking to face Joan.

        “I want you all to meet Yes Man—he’ll be my co-director. I’ve copied his neuro-computational matrix onto the Institute’s mainframe; by now I expect he’s downloaded himself into every available robot, terminal and connected piece of machinery within the Institute. Is that correct, Yes Man?”

        “It sure is, Ma’am! And it’s a pretty swell place. I think you’re really going to be able to do a _lot_ of good work with this,” he responded.

        “Excellent. Is the Deep Range Transmitter set up?” she asked.

        “Yes, Ma’am. I’m reading over the former director’s logs right now; good job finding this! Now we can transmit information back to the Mojave without you having to drag it all back with you!”

        “Perfect. Please go ahead and start doing that, Yes Man. Copy every single thing related to the creation of Synths that you can find and begin transmitting it; hopefully by the time I’ve arrived we can begin building.”

        “Of course, Ma’am. There is one thing you should know—due to the nature of the Deep Range Transmitter, I’ll only be able to send the data in packets, and we can only send them one way. We won’t be able to actually receive anything from back out west.”

        Joan nodded.

        “I anticipated as much. Go ahead and get to work.”

        “Yes Ma’am!”

        Joan turned back to the conference table and took her place at the head.

        “Sit please, all of you,” she said, gesturing at the empty chairs around her. Madison, Allie and Clayton sat stiffly. Justin still stood, looming over Joan’s chair, his face radiating with hatred. Joan looked up at him and smiled coldly.

        “Choose your next words carefully, Justin. It’s pretty rough up on the surface; I don’t think you’d fare very well.”

        Justin swelled with rage before he glanced away, catching the eyes of the Yes Man Synth. He faltered and sat heavily in his chair, settling for glaring mutinously at Joan.

        “Thank you. Now I want to assure you all that this isn’t as bad as it might seem,” Joan began. “Yes Man will be helping me direct, but it’s mostly just a formality. I’m leaving the Commonwealth very soon.”

        The Directorate immediately looked relieved.

        “Allie, you’ll be the acting Director. It was Shaun’s last wish,” Joan said. Allie blinked at her and Joan gave her a bittersweet smile.

        “I’m sorry it’s worked out this way, Allie. I really do consider you a friend. But I have to leave; I have to go back home now. All I want is for you, all of you,” she paused, gesturing to the entire group, “to continue doing what you have always done. I am not a dictator; far from it, in fact. I just need the Institute’s technology. Now that I have that, I’ll be out of your hair.”

        “You’re no better than the Brotherhood then!” Madison spat at her. The smile slid off of Joan’s face as she faced her. Madison stared back at her defiantly and Joan narrowed her eyes.

        “I am not _taking_ it from you, I just want to build some of this tech for myself. After I’m gone, it will be as though I was never here in the first place. Follow Director Allie’s orders; I’ve worked with her very closely, so I know she’s a sound replacement for Shaun.” Joan aimlessly shuffled some of the papers scattered over the desk to quell her temper before withdrawing the fried Yes Man holotape from the terminal and tucking it back inside her suit. Not that she needed it anymore or that it was even functional; she felt strangely naked without it now.

        “So, what, you’re just leaving now?” Allie asked her. Remorse tugged at Joan again as she looked at her pale face. “After everything you did with Father, him naming you his successor, that’s _it_?”

        Joan bit her lip, deliberating before settling. There was no point in concealing anything now.

        “It’s much more complicated than you realize,” she said. Over the next hour she explained to the Directorate about the goings-on out west: the multiple battles for Hoover Dam, the Legion, how they had risen anew and posed an even greater threat, what exactly they were capable of, and her role in keeping them at bay.

        “How do we know this isn’t some—some _scheme_ ,” Justin sneered at her. Madison, Clayton and Allie sat stiff and nervous.

        “Believe me or don’t believe me, the truth is that I don’t really care anymore, Justin,” Joan said, pulling off her desperado hat and running her cold fingers through her hair. She was ready to leave now. If the day hadn’t already been nearly bursting with activity she might have been tempted to teleport to the furthest edge of the Commonwealth and leave this very night. Though she did have one final errand to run for Shaun.

        “All that matters is that I’m leaving. You’re all free to resume your work. You won’t hear a thing from me. Yes Man will only object or make himself known if you try to plan anything against me. Which I _obviously_ advise against,” she said, looking at all of them but most pointedly at Justin Ayo.

        “What about the truce with the Minutemen,” Allie asked, sitting up straighter in her chair.

        “Do what you think is best, Allie. I _do_ think it would be in the Commonwealth’s best interest to cooperate with them, at least to a degree. Maybe think about having Preston Garvey replaced with a Synth, he seems to carry a lot of influence with their leader, June Rockwell. But it’s up to you; like I said, you’re the acting Director now. I won’t interfere.” Joan pulled her leg back up over her knee, crossing her legs again and taking a deep sip of cool water from a glass sitting in front of her. Allie relaxed in her chair and steepled her fingers together.

        “Duly noted, Joan. I will consider that.”

        “Consider doing the same with Piper Wright, in Diamond City. Shaun and I have been reading that rag of hers for months now and it doesn’t look like she’s ever going to change her mind about the Institute. Most people seem to write her off as a troublemaker who cries wolf so it shouldn’t be too hard. Best to replace her sister too, if it comes to it,” Joan continued. Allie, Clayton and Justin nodded at her, relief washing over their faces. Madison alone still looked displeased.

        “Nothing to say?” Joan echoed her derisively.

        “ _No_.” Madison turned her gaze away haughtily. Joan met Allie’s eyes; Allie gave her a small nod and Joan stood from the table.

        “That’s all I have to say on the matter then. Allie, it’s in your hands—congratulations.” She stepped aside and let Allie take her place at the head of the table, passing her short lived torch.

        “So what are you going to do now, Joan?” Allie asked, bending forward and clasping her hands across the table. Joan tucked her desperado hat back onto her head and smiled.

        “Right now I’m going to fucking bed. It’s been a long goddamn day, a long fucking _year_. Goodnight.”


	19. All These Things That I've Done

Chapter 19: All These Things That I’ve Done

_I wanna shine on in the hearts of man—I want a meaning from the back of my broken hand_

        Two days later Joan was standing outside the Relay. Accompanying her were two Coursers as well as X6-88. She had a heavy pack slung over her shoulders.

        “Is that everything?” Allie Filmore asked, standing in front of her. She had changed from her usual attire to a vest and labcoat, much like Shaun had worn. Joan nodded at her.

        “Are you going to be able to hold down the fort here?” she asked. Allie smiled.

        “I think we’ll manage. Be careful out there.” Allie stepped forward and gave Joan a quick hug; Joan stiffened only a moment before returning it.

        “You too, Allie. Maybe we’ll see each other again someday. Take care,” Joan said as her group stepped into the Relay.

        “Goodbye, Joan.”

***

        White-blue light sizzled in the air in the middle of Sanctuary Hills; in an instant Joan and her party appeared, looking around. It was cool in Sanctuary this day: a light rainfall drizzled on the pavement, the sky muddled grey above them.

        “Joan?” Nick Valentine strode out of a nearby house, his eyes already suspicious. “What’s with the entourage?” he asked, his eyes narrowing further as he took in the group of Coursers around her. Joan raised her hands.

        “Lay off alright? I’m leaving. I need to speak to June,” she said. He arched his thin brows at her.

        “You’re leaving?” June had walked up behind him, tall and yellow as ever, her house dress sweeping around her in the cool breeze.

        “Yes, I am. I’m going back home,” Joan said, adjusting her tie. June’s eyebrows raced together.

        “ _Home_? But the Institute—”

        Joan sighed, pushing her glasses up to pinch the bridge of her nose with her finger and thumb. She lamented not summoning June down to the Institute and telling everyone her plans all at once.

        “Yes, home. I’m not the Director of the Institute anymore, that’s Allie Filmore now. She’s more than happy to hold up the truce we’ve created, and is available to talk any time you’d like. She can supply you with the finer details of everything that’s happened. All of that is unimportant for now; I have something to tell you,” she said. June stiffened.

        “I’m sorry, June. Shaun passed two nights ago, after we destroyed the Prydwen.”

        June’s shoulders slumped and she pressed her face into her hands. She was crying again, though with less fervor than she had when she had first learned of Shaun’s cancer. Joan stood in front of her awkwardly.

        “I’m… I’m sorry.”

        “Don’t be,” June sniffed, wiping her eyes and composing herself again. “I knew it was coming. He… he wasn’t in any pain was he?”

        “No. I was with him when he passed. He went as peacefully and calmly as any of us could pray to go. He didn’t suffer,” Joan replied quietly.

        June reached out to Joan and gently took her hand. She squeezed it and smiled sadly at Joan.

        “Thank you. I’m glad he had someone with him in his last hour,” she said. Joan returned her squeeze.

        “That’s not all. I have something else to tell you.”

        June’s eyebrows rose up over her thick white rimmed glasses and she tilted her head.

        “You’re a Synth, June,” Joan stated bluntly.

        June startled and Joan couldn’t suppress a satisfied snort. June tossed her head, looking back and forth between Joan and Nick, frantic excitement growing on her face.

        “What! I—no, that can’t be right,” she said, her voice rising. Nick looked completely unsurprised by this information. Joan dug into her suit jacket for the holotape that Shaun had entrusted her with a few weeks earlier and passed it to June.

        “This is from Shaun. He’s detailed all about your rather special creation, as well as a few other things he wanted to say to you. He asked me to give this to you when he passed.”

        June looked down at the holotape reverently before taking it and sliding it into the folds of her dress.

        “Nick, do you think she’s right?” She spun and faced him, ignoring Joan. Nick rolled his eyes skyward for a moment before giving her a lopsided smile.

        “I think you might have been the last person in the Commonwealth to guess it, June. Yeah; I think she’s right—” He was abruptly cut off by June throwing her arms around him and physically lifting him into the air in a spinning hug, laughing the entire time. Joan quickly stepped backward to avoid being slapped with Nick’s battered dress shoes. After a moment June set him down; Nick looked frazzled but pleased, patting his fedora back into place.

        “That’s amazing! Nick, you’ve said it yourself so many times, we really can keep this up forever!” June was bursting with excitement now, clapping her hands together with joy. “Think of all the time we have to help people now!”

        She faltered, turning pink before subduing herself.

        “If… if you want to, that is,” she said quietly. Nick slid his metal hand into hers and gave her a squeeze.

        “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be. We really are going to have to add your name to the sign for the agency now,” he said, smiling at her. June threw her arms around him again, holding him tightly. He hugged her back and Joan looked away, ramming her hand into her jacket and caressing her bible, flushing with envy again.

        “Alright you… you lovebirds or whatever,” she said stiffly. “I’ve got one last thing for you.”

        Nick and June parted, turning to face her.

        “Good lord, there’s _more_? The hell else could you possibly have to tell us?” Nick said. Joan stepped aside from the Coursers forming a wall behind her and they separated; standing behind them was a young blond boy, the Synth child Shaun. June gasped, covering her mouth with her hand.

        “Shaun goes into greater detail about him on your holotape, but… he wanted you to have a chance at experiencing the motherhood he deprived you of. He said he was sorry,” Joan explained somberly.

        Nick and June stood as stiff as statues, their eyes wide. Nick in particular looked shocked and Joan briefly smirked. Didn’t see that one coming, did you, she thought smugly.

        “Shaun… understood that it’s a large commitment,” Joan continued after a moment, turning serious again. “If you don’t want him, know that he’ll have a stable home in the Institute.”

        June stepped toward the child, tentatively holding her hand out to him.

        “Mom? What’s wrong?” Shaun asked, looking up at her with an open expression. June’s face broke and tears ran out from behind her sunglasses. She knelt and wrapped her arms around Shaun tightly, holding him to her chest. He hugged her back, looking confused.

        “Mom? Are you okay? I didn’t make you sad by coming here, did I?” He sounded nervous and Joan bounced back and forth on her heels. She still didn’t understand motherhood and why someone would want a small helpless thing attached to them at all times, yet she couldn’t help but feel for the child Synth and hoped June would accept him.

        “No, baby. I’ve waited so long for this,” June said quietly, holding onto him. “Welcome home, Shaun.”

        Relief washed over Joan. She glanced up at Nick, who still looked shocked, but it was quickly wearing off. He stepped behind June and placed his hand on Shaun’s small shoulder.

        “Welcome home, kiddo,” he said. Joan stepped away.

        “I really do have to be leaving,” she said awkwardly, feeling like an intruder again. June finally released her son and stepped back from him, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. She turned to Joan again and seized her in a hug. Joan stood stiffly in it.

        “Thank you, Joan. I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye, but _thank you_ , for finally bringing my baby boy back home to me.”

        “I’m only doing the right thing,” Joan said, her face buried in June’s bosom, blushing red. She finally pushed away and hiked up the bag on her shoulder.

        “I really do have to go,” she said.

        “But where? You only just got here a few months ago,” June said, looking concerned again. “They named you Director, are you just… quitting? What happened?”

        Joan contemplated again; she was thoroughly done with the lies, the storytelling. She was ready to completely be herself again.

        “I don’t want to rain on your parade, but… I have very important business back out west. I’m from the Mojave Desert, New Vegas,” she said. Nick pricked with recognition.

        For the third time in as many days Joan explained the Legion, telling Nick and June about the danger they posed, not just to the west, but eventually to the east if they continued unopposed. Nick’s eyebrows rose up under the brim of his hat and June pressed a hand over her mouth. Shaun had run off and was playing with Sturges and Dogmeat, blissfully unaware.

        “I’m sorry I had to deceive everyone, but I did it for a good reason. The Legion has to be put down,” she said. Nick and June nodded at her solemnly. Joan felt a rotten, acidic taste growing in her mouth; it felt like she had done nothing but talk about the Legion since Shaun’s death, and the shadow they cast over her life felt suffocatingly real again. She looked around anxiously, feeling the fine hairs on the back of her neck rise, as though a Legionary might pop out from behind one of the crumbling houses of Sanctuary Hills at any moment. Suddenly she was nervous to leave the Commonwealth, the reality of heading back west sharply dawning on her—that in just a few months time she would be crossing through New Mexico and Arizona again. She reached inside her suit and touched her bible, silently praying for safety.

        “I should come with you,” June said abruptly, staring intently down at Joan.

        “ _What_?” Nick and Joan exclaimed together. Nick whipped his head around and June looked back at him nervously.

        “If the Legion is as bad as she says it is, wouldn’t that be the greatest good we could do in the world?” she asked him before turning back to Joan. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

        “Absolutely not,” Joan said sternly. “For one, I’m not alone. I have an army back out west, as well as my own friends and family.”

        “June, we only _just_ got your son back,” Nick said, grabbing her forearm. “Not to mention that you’re the General of the Minutemen.”

        June looked at him indecisively, biting her lip.

        “I know, but… I just want to do what’s right,” she said, her brows knitting together.

        “I know you do, but… We have enough to worry about here at home, June. I won’t stop you if that’s what your heart is set on, but…” Nick trailed off, running his metal fingers along his temple. June continued to chew on her lip.

        A faint crackling rose from June’s Pipboy and the three looked down at it.

        “Um—June? Nick?” A voice emanated from the radio and June held it up between them.

        “Ellie?” June asked.

        “Is everything alright there?” Nick asked quickly, leaning down to the Pipboy.

        “Oh yes, I’m alright, Nick. But I just thought you should know, you just had a client come in, a Kenji Nakano? He sounded pretty desperate. You’d better come in so I can give you the full rundown. His daughter is missing,” the voice—Ellie, Joan recognized—continued. “Can you two be here tonight? It’s pretty serious.”

        June hesitated, her eyes darting back and forth between Nick and Joan. After a long moment she finally ceded.

        “Yes Ellie, we’ll be in as soon as we can. See you soon,” she said, sighing as soon as she finished. Nick looked openly relieved and Joan stepped back, smiling at her.

        “It sounds like you’ve got a pretty full plate here, June. Nick is right—just like I have to go take care of my home, you need to stay here and look after you and yours,” she said, spreading her hands out wide.

        “Someone very dear to me once told me this: When the walls come tumbling down, when you lose everything you have, you always have family,” Joan paused, feeling warmth run down to her fingertips. “Be here for your tribe, June. They need you more than I do.”

        June looked back at her and smiled, resolve setting her chin and jaw. She nodded before drawing Joan into another embrace, one that she actually returned.

        “You’re right. Please be careful out there, Joan. If you ever need anything, find a way to let us know.”

        Joan patted her on the shoulder before drawing back and tilting her head up to return June’s smile.

        “I will, you do the same. Good luck with your case,” she replied before nodding at Nick and turning, beckoning the Coursers to follow her.

        “Take care, kid,” Nick called after her. Joan waved back at him.

        “You too, Nick. Look out for June and Shaun,” she said, walking away from them.

***

        A short while later Joan, X6-88 and the two Coursers were finally beyond the bounds of Sanctuary Hills, walking into the forest. Joan paused, stopping to stand in the wet leaves.

        “You really don’t have to do this, X6-88,” she said, looking up at him. He turned to face her and the other Coursers halted as well.

        “I know how loyal you are to the Institute,” she continued. “You can still teleport back. I wouldn’t hold that against you.”

        The corners of X6-88’s lips turned up briefly.

        “I know, Ma’am. What can I say—I never did like the Commonwealth. I think a change of scenery might be nice.”

        “It’s going to be dangerous out there. The Legion is far worse than anything we’ve encountered here,” she warned, her brows knitted together. X6-88 looked amused.

        “That’s fine with me, Ma’am. Let’s take the fight to them. We’ll show those savages what true power really is—and that you shouldn’t bring a spear to a gun fight.”

        Joan grinned at him.

        “I always did like you, X6-88,” she said as they began their long journey.


	20. Epilogue

Epilogue

_You can be an angel of mercy or give into hate, you can try to fight it just like every other careless mistake. How do you justify, I'm mystified by the ways of your heart—with a million lies the truth will rise to tear you apart_

January 2289

        Joan and X6-88 were trundling along the dusty road, the sun setting low in the sky and casting long purple shadows across the sand. Oklahoma lay behind them and they were fast approaching the first of the Legion checkpoints that scattered New Mexico and Arizona. Joan thought of Cass, momentarily uplifted that she would finally be seeing her again soon as she stared at the spot where they had parted ways two years before. It felt like a lifetime ago now.

        She reached inside her coat to stroke her bible and cursed; their standard attire had been abandoned several days before and the scripture was still in her suit jacket, packed away neatly. X6-88 was now dressed in a slim fitting black leather jacket and jeans, though his aviator sunglasses were still perched neatly on his nose. Joan was back in the baggy jeans that she despised and the heavy black overcoat she had picked up back in Boston. Somewhere south of the ruins of D.C. they had purchased a cart and a couple of brahmin; the trip heading back had been much shorter thanks to that. She swept her desperado hat off her head and dropped it under the tarp covering the cart behind her, sighing.

        “So this is Arizona, Ma’am?” X6-88 asked, looking around.

        “Not quite. This is New Mexico, but we’re almost there. Don’t call me Ma’am while we’re here, either.”

        “Right, of course. You’re Jael and I’m Joseph,” he said, and Joan saw a small sardonic smile curving his lips.

        “If it works, it works,” he continued, noticing her expression. She tried to let his restrained nature relax her but it was difficult; she was just too anxious and nervous being back in enemy territory. She had been gone for almost exactly two years; snippets of radio broadcasts had assured her that the Mojave was still safe and in one piece, but who knew what Vulpes Inculta had been up to in that time. She very much doubted he had been sitting idly.

        More than anything, she was ready to be home. Though her trip with X6-88 had certainly gone by much faster, it had also been more dangerous; the two Coursers she had brought with her from the Commonwealth were long dead. It had horrified Joan to see them fall: one had been struck down by a Deathclaw, the other ripped apart in a hail of super mutant gunfire. Her plans for a Synth army seemed depressingly flimsy now and she desperately hoped that they would fare better against the Legion than they had while crossing the breadth of America.

        “That’s the checkpoint Ma— _Jael_ ,” X6-88 said, thrusting his long brown finger out in front of them. Joan clenched the rope in her hands tightly and began slowing the brahmin. For the first time in two years she spied men in blood red and football pads and her heart started beating quickly. She bit her lip and prayed to God for safety. All too soon the wagon was rolling up to the check point and drawing to a jerky stop.

        A group of six or so Legionaries milled around and one broke from the crowd, approaching them. He had a clipboard and pen in hand.

        “Salve,” he greeted them, speaking primarily to X6-88. “State your business.”

        Joan’s fingers felt icy and she fought to keep her tone neutral.

        “We’re with Cassidy Caravans,” she said. X6-88 sat beside her, stoic and calm. The Legionary circled the cart, hefting a stick from the sandy ground and using it to lift the cover of their wagon. Joan had double and triple checked to make sure there was nothing there that the Legion would consider to be contraband—no chems, no alchohol, no cigarettes. Only food, water, clothing and caps. Beneath a false bottom in the cart were stashed her sniper rifle and spare ammunition. The Legionary prodded around in the cart for a few minutes until he was satisfied before circling back to the front and approaching Joan. He held his palm out to her. She looked down at it, apprehension rapidly rising inside her.

        “Alright, you’re not transporting anything illegal. I’ll take your papers now.”

        “ _My papers_?” Joan asked, the apprehension exploding into panic. Her fingers began to tremble. The Legionary looked unamused.

        “Yes. All parties coming through New Mexico and Arizona require identification. Give me your papers.”

        “I-I don’t have any identification or papers,” Joan said, her voice thin. The Legionary leaned in closer to her, scrutinizing her.

        “I’ve been out of state for a couple years—this must be a new policy,” she continued, speaking quickly. She didn’t like the way the Legionary’s eyes were lingering on her hair and sunglasses.

        “Caesar has ordered us to look out for a woman,” the Legionary stated, stepping closer to the cart and seizing Joan’s forearm. “She went missing two years ago. Step out of the cart,” he demanded, yanking hard at her. Joan took a shuddery gasp, the panic flaring into a scream inside her and she froze, terrified. The Legionaries behind him began to shuffle toward the cart with growing excitement.

        X6-88 leaned around her—his laser pistol was drawn. The Legionary’s eyes flew open wide and his hand immediately snapped back from Joan, diving for his own firearm when X6-88 shot him straight between the eyes. He flew backward, leaving a searing red trail in the air and the Legionaries behind him shouted and cursed in Latin, drawing their own weapons.

        “It’s got to be her! It’s the Courier! STOP HER!”

        “We need to get moving, Ma’am!” X6-88 barked and Joan frantically jerked on the reins, urging the brahmin forward as gunfire cut through the air around them.

 

_No one gets out alive—every day is do or die_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for reading! Part Three is completely finished, but I'm only about halfway through the first draft of Part Four. As soon as Part Four is fully drafted I will begin posting the next work in the series. Hopefully it won't be too long of a wait ;)
> 
> *Deep breath* Here's a list of all the songs used for the chapter titles as well as the name of the fic itself:
> 
> How Did You Love - Shinedown  
> Figure it Out - Royal Blood  
> Orange Colored Sky - Nat King Cole  
> I Hope to Die if I Told a Lie - The Ink Spots  
> The Abyss - Three Days Grace  
> Love the One You're With - Crosby, Stills & Nash  
> Footsteps - Pop Evil  
> Can't Go to Hell - Sin Shake Sin  
> Somebody to Love - Queen  
> Blood // Water - Grandson  
> Willow Tree - Twin Wild  
> Kicks - Barns Courtney  
> I'd Do Anything for Love - Meat Loaf  
> Breathe Your Name - Sixpence None the Richer  
> Highway - Bleeker  
> What's the Use of Feeling (Blue) - Rebecca Sugar, Steven Universe  
> New Blood - Zayde Wolf  
> Breaking Down - Florence + The Machine  
> Sinners - Barns Courtney  
> All These Things That I've Done - The Killers
> 
> I'll see you all in Part Three...


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